


Bracing Against The Storm

by Mack_the_Spoon, Namarie



Series: Bloodlines [8]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The allegiances and relationships that Liz and Ressler have navigated thus far begin to usher in grave consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to previous stories in this series, most directly "All We Could And Should Be."

~  
July

He was just about to unlock the car when a voice from behind him froze him in his tracks. “Agent Ressler? Don?”

He turned around slowly, not at all sure how he was going to get out of this without doing something he might regret. Yes, it was Colleen Kent, David Kent's daughter. She was standing a few feet away, smiling at him as if her father hadn't ordered his kidnapping and participated in his torture the night after they had met for the first time. “Colleen,” he said, keeping his expression and voice civil with effort.

“You remember me,” she said, with another smile and that grating, simpering laugh he recalled from the party. “How sweet.”

Ressler breathed steadily, wishing he had waited for Liz to be totally finished with her meeting before he had volunteered to get the car. “It was a memorable occasion,” he said finally.

“True,” she said, taking a step closer. “So how are you, Don?”

That was the last straw. “I'm doing fine,” he said in a falsely cheerful tone. Then his voice hardened. “Much better than the day after I last saw you, when I woke up in the hospital because of your father's vendetta against Elizabeth and her father.”

At that, her smile faded. “What?”

“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Colleen,” he said with a scoff. “You're Kent's lieutenant. You know pretty much all of his plans. That means you knew what he planned to do to me. You might have even helped organize it.”

She sighed and took another step closer. “Don, give me a chance to explain,” she began, but he stepped back. Unfortunately, that put him inches away from the side of the car. He was going to have to push past her if she didn't take the hint and get out of here. She saw his movement and sighed again. “I just wanted to tell you--”

“Get the hell away from him.”

Ressler jumped. He hadn't even heard Liz arrive, but suddenly she was there, and now she was pushing herself between him and Colleen with a look of fury on her face. Her eyes were blazing, and both her hands were fists.

Colleen gave a little gasp and backed away a few steps. “Look, I'm not trying to cause trouble--”

“Then get out of here.” She wasn't using her hypnosis, but Ressler still wasn't sure he'd ever heard her sound this menacing. “And if your father is lurking somewhere nearby, you tell him from me he better not stick around, either.”

The woman's eyes were wide as she met Liz's, and she swallowed. “Fine. I'm leaving,” she said, with her hands raised. She glanced back at the two of them as she departed, and Ressler saw an odd look on her face as she finally walked off.

Liz was breathing heavily and staring in the direction Colleen had gone. She turned around after a few seconds. “Let's go,” she said shortly.

Ressler considered saying something, but decided it could wait until things had cooled down a little. Instead, he just nodded and opened her door for her.

Once they had left the parking lot and started back toward the apartment, Ressler thought it was safe to speak. “You know, she wasn't actually much of a threat to me,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road and making sure it didn't sound like he was accusing Liz of anything.

“I know,” Liz said, exhaling slowly. “I just-- I can't believe she'd try to talk to you, after what her father did. Like there was anything she could say that would make you friends.” Her voice took on a hint of the anger it had carried in the parking lot.

“No, there was no way in hell that was going to happen,” Ressler agreed. He was quiet for a while, still going over the events of this confrontation in his mind. “But what was she really doing there? Could you tell if David was around?”

“He wasn't very close,” Liz replied. “That makes it seem like she was there on purpose to find you.”

It was possible, Ressler granted. It still didn't make much sense. Things with David Kent had stayed pretty quiet since Reddington and Liz had talked with his aunt over a year ago.

It occurred to Ressler when they got to the apartment that it was July – mid-July, to be more precise. That meant Liz was about to go into season soon. He wondered if that might have anything to do with her extreme reaction to Colleen's presence, but he wasn't going to ask to find out. Still, there were some things about this upcoming event that he needed to ask. Even though it would be awkward.

When they got inside, Ressler said, “So, uh, are you going to be going on another weeklong trip in a little while? Since it's about that time?”

Liz glanced at him and then looked away. “Maybe. Whatever I decide, it'll be planned better this time.”

Ressler nodded. “And, um...” He was going to sound kind of pathetic if he asked this next question, but he wanted to know. Needed to know.

“What, Ressler?” There was an edge of irritation to her voice, but she was trying not to let it show. He could tell.

“And I still can't go with you? Even though we're together now?”

Her expression softened, but she shook her head. “No.” She looked down, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. “Not unless we want to end up with a kid nine months from then.”

“Ah. Wow.” Ressler felt his own face warm. “That much of a sure thing, huh?”

“So I've been warned.”

“Even if we … take preventative measures?” He kept his tone light and teasing.

She smiled and shook her head again, reaching for his hand. “The point is, we couldn't be sure, and...” She met his eyes. “And if we ever do decide to have a family, I want it to be something we decide, something we've discussed. I want us both to be ready.”

With a pang, Ressler thought of the box of pregnancy tests he'd found in Audrey's things after her murder. They had never had the chance to talk seriously about kids. “I want that, too,” he said, with a sharp breath.

Liz was watching his face closely. “What were you just thinking about? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” she added quickly.

“No, it's all right,” he said, as they kept going up the stairs to their level. He had never told her – hadn't told anyone about that discovery. But he didn't see the need to keep it secret from her now. “I was just remembering that I found out Audrey must have thought there was a chance she was pregnant right before she died. There was a box of tests in her stuff.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “God, Ressler, I'm so sorry,” she breathed. “I can't imagine – that must have been so hard to deal with, on top of everything else.”

He nodded. The grief was still there, and it wasn't going to just go away … but like Reddington had promised him, it had faded until it was no longer the all-consuming thing it had once been. It was no longer part of a drive for him to seek relief in pills, for one thing. “So I'm saying I understand where you're coming from, when you talk about wanting us to wait until we're ready.”

Liz looked like she might want to say something further, but she was quiet until they got to their apartments. Then she said, “But you would maybe be all right with, sometime in the future, thinking about a family?”

“There are some things I would want to have happen first,” Ressler said, “and I have to admit, I don't know when we'll be in a position that we'll feel like we're able to keep any kid of ours safe. But yes, I definitely would.”

Liz took this in as she followed him into his apartment. “Good,” she said. “That's how I feel, too.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” He smiled and, shutting the door with one hand, pulled her close with the other so that he could kiss her.

“I think,” Liz said breathlessly, a few seconds later, “we should take advantage of this time before we have to be apart for a week. What do you think?”

“I like that idea,” said Ressler.

~  
July 30

Ressler was driving back from his week at his parents' house, reflecting on how good it had been to just relax and get away from work, when he glanced in the rearview mirror again. The car that he had noticed half a mile back was still there. He frowned. There were a few cars between him and the one that might be following him, but it still made him take notice.

He was debating whether or not he should contact Liz when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw that it was a text from her, asking how his week had been. He smiled a little. Keeping one eye on the road, he started to compose a response. But then he saw the vehicle stopped in front of him and slammed on the brakes. Fortunately there was a wide enough shoulder that he could pull over when he saw he wasn't going to be able to stop in time. He'd had to drop his phone to grab the steering wheel with both hands; he had no idea if he'd sent the message or not first.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he came to a stop without hitting the SUV in front of him, and when no one else hit his car from behind. His heart was still pounding and he needed to take several more deep breaths before he calmed down – but he was okay. He took the key out of the ignition and was about to reach for his phone (it had buzzed again at least once in the intervening seconds) when he heard a shriek from the stopped car. A woman, and it sounded like she was in trouble.

Hurrying out of his car, Ressler drew his weapon and approached the front of the other vehicle. “Is everything all right? Ma'am? I'm an FBI agent--”

The passenger door opened as he came closer, and a woman jumped out. “Please, help me!” she cried, alternately wringing her hands and running them through her long, black hair. “It's-- it's my husband. He was driving, and then he just grabbed his chest...” Ressler glanced past her at the driver's side. The man in there was in fact slumped against the wheel. “I was just barely able to grab the wheel and keep it straight while I pulled the E-brake. But I don't think he's conscious, and I'm--”

“It's going to be all right, ma'am,” Ressler said, cutting off her frantic explanation. He took a slow step closer to her, and reholstered his gun. “Do you have a phone? Mine's in my car, but we need to call 911. It sounds like your husband may have had a heart attack.”

She nodded, shaking. “I-- I do have a phone.” She put her hands in her jacket pockets. Before Ressler could react, she pulled out a syringe and jammed it into his neck. His last thought before the sedative inside really hit his bloodstream was one of dismay – he was pretty sure this was morphine, and the part of his brain that still always craved a fix recognized this feeling immediately. Then his eyes closed and he started to fall toward the ground. He wasn't awake by the time he reached it.

When he began to come around, Ressler heard voices from nearby but couldn't distinguish what they were saying. He was lying down on something, and felt very comfortable. Extremely comfortable, in fact. He sighed and tried to open his eyes.

“He's waking up,” said someone right near where his head was resting.

“Don't worry about it,” said another voice, from not quite so nearby. “He'll still be pretty out of it for a few hours at least. Plenty of time to get where we're going.”

Ressler blinked slowly, staring up at what seemed to be the ceiling of a car, but it was no use trying to stay awake. He felt so relaxed. His eyes slipped shut again.

When he next woke up, he was being carried by two people, one supporting each of his arms. He tried to pay attention to what was going on, if only because it wasn't very pleasant being dragged along like this. But there were also other reasons why it would be good for him to pay attention. He struggled to think.

Now they were going inside a building, a house, maybe. It was dark inside, and Ressler stumbled over something on the floor. The people supporting him kept him upright, though. They carried him down a hall and into a small room, where they dumped him on a mattress on the floor. Ressler tried to turn himself over so he could at least see the faces of the people who'd brought him here, but that was too much effort. Sleep claimed him again.

He had no idea how long he'd been out when he next woke up, but this time he was able to be more alert than the previous times. He was still lying on a mattress in a tiny room that held no other furniture. There was an equally tiny window near the ceiling, and faint light coming in through it. There was a lightbulb in the center of the ceiling, but it wasn't on.

Ressler rolled onto his back and tried to take stock of what had happened. It was pretty clear that whoever was behind this had targeted him in particular – this wasn't random. That meant it either had something to do with one of the recent Blacklist cases, or his position in Liz's organization. They had left him alive and mostly unharmed, although he could still feel the effects of the drug in his system. He sighed. He had already given up painkillers cold turkey once, before that had gotten messed up by the drugs the Scimitar's people had administered. He really wasn't looking forward to going through withdrawal again.

Slowly, Ressler got to his feet, leaning against the wall when a wave of dizziness hit him. It passed fairly quickly. He noted that his jacket, holster, and gun were gone. Not surprising. Then he walked to the door and, just to be thorough, tried it. It was locked, of course, from the outside. He pounded on it. “Hey! Anyone out there? What do you want?”

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of footsteps getting closer. He backed away from the door and waited. When it opened, there was a man pointing a gun at him, and the woman from the SUV. The man had the build and attitude of ex-military, and the woman... She was smiling at him with a cruel glint in her brown eyes.

“Who are you?” Ressler demanded. “What do you want?”

The woman's smile widened. “I'm a good friend of Tom Connolly,” she said, and nodded when she saw his reaction. “Yes, Agent Ressler. The dragon you and your _mate_ , Raymond Reddington's bastard daughter, attacked for no reason. She's going to be very sorry she went up against him when she finds out what's happened to you.”

This was worse than he had imagined. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

“Eventually,” she said with a shrug. “But not quickly. I have other plans for you first.”

Ressler took a slow breath. “But you're not a dragon.” It was a guess, but he felt pretty confident since she wasn't immediately trying to hypnotize him.

She smiled again. “No, not enough of one by blood to attack your mind. But enough for Tom to have brought me into their world and their politics.”

This woman and Connolly must be involved, then, he figured. But she wasn't his wife; they had researched him enough to know what his family looked like. Whoever she was, she was being vague enough that Ressler didn't know whether Connolly knew about this operation or not. Reddington and Liz had been so sure he was no longer a real threat. Ressler stared at her and waited.

“Well.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and said, “You'll have a meal delivered to you in a little while, and by then we'll be ready to get this started.”

The woman and the guard left, locking the door behind them. Ressler sat down on the mattress and put his head in his hands. He didn't know how Connolly's mistress had tracked him down, unless she had been brought in to Connolly's back-room dealings, and he really didn't know how she knew he and Liz were together. That still wasn't something they advertised. When they were in public, they did their best not to make it obvious. He could count the people they had told on one hand – and neither Reddington, Samar, nor Cooper were liable to tell anyone else. And this kind of thing was the exact reason why.

Ressler wished he could reach out to Liz telepathically now that he was awake. She had presumably noticed he was missing by now, though of course he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. The Task Force would be able to track down his car with no trouble, assuming his kidnappers hadn't destroyed his phone to prevent that from happening. But even though he got the impression the woman running this thing wasn't incredibly well-organized, he could bet he wasn't anywhere near where he had left his car. Liz could still track him, though. She had done it before.

Time passed. He heard the sound of people coming closer, so he stood up and faced the door. This time, it was two men: the same armed guard as before, and guy holding a plastic plate with a sandwich on it and a water bottle. The guy set the food on the floor and left.

Ressler picked up the plate and the water so he could sit back down on the mattress with his dinner (was it evening? It felt like evening). He thought of Wales, and hoped this food wasn't drugged like Liz's had been. There was nothing for him to do but try it and find out.

To his relief, he felt no ill effects after he ate the sandwich and drank most of the water. In fact, he was left alone for long enough that he might have started to drift off if he weren't starting to come down off the high from whatever they'd given him. There was the anxiety, the sweating, the muscle cramps and aches. Ressler shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall. That was when the door to his little cell crashed open, and seconds later he was dragged out by two guards into the hall, and down a flight of stairs to a darkened room with a medical table where, he assumed, he was going to be strapped down. There was a man standing behind the table, in doctor's garb. The only real light in the room was over the table. Ressler fought against the men holding him, but just when he thought he might break free from their grip, several more guys came out of the shadows and forced him, still fighting, to the table. They held him down while the doctor strapped each of his arms and legs, and then withdrew. Ressler, panting, tried to struggle against the straps but quickly gave it up as a waste of energy.

“Let's see what we have here,” said the man in the white coat. He moved the lamp closer, and his eyebrows rose. “Hmm. Now that is interesting. Very interesting. It seems our intel that you've been a long-term user of opioid drugs before is correct.”

Ressler didn't speak. His pulse, which was already racing, sped up even further. This was bad. This was really bad. And how the hell had they gotten that information...?

“Your symptoms definitely match with that intel,” the doctor continued, unconcerned by Ressler's lack of spoken response. “Well, then I'll proceed with the appropriate course of action.”

The doctor turned around and rummaged through something Ressler couldn't see from his position. “Ah. Here we go.” He turned back around with a vial. “This, Mr. Ressler, is naloxone – a drug that's usually used to quickly counter the effects of opioid overdose. I'm going to give you a very small dose, because its effect on you will be to make your withdrawal symptoms worsen.”

Ressler swallowed against his dry throat. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, wincing as the needle went into his arm. “You're a doctor, aren't you? You're supposed to help people. I was fine until that woman injected me to knock me out.” The naloxone definitely worked quickly. His head was starting to ache, he was cold all over, and the ache in his muscles increased. Even worse than all of that, though, was the craving he felt for another dose of the painkiller. The doctor bent over to look at his eyes, and made a pleased sound.

“'That woman', as you call her, is my friend and in this case my boss,” the doctor said then. “She hired me to keep you as uncomfortable as possible without causing a lot of permanent damage. This is much less invasive than some of the other options, which should be a relief to you.”

By now, the withdrawal was completely impossible to ignore. The doctor checked over Ressler again, and then stepped away. As he shivered and sniffed and generally felt terrible, Ressler thought darkly that it was more efficient of the doctor to let Ressler's own body torture itself than for him to put in a lot of external effort.

It got harder and harder for Ressler to track the passage of time as this went on. It was also harder to pay attention to anything else that was going on – but at one point he heard someone come down the stairs into the room, and he thought it was Connolly's mistress. She and the doctor talked for a while. 

Ressler, however, was too busy trying to fight off a wave of nausea to focus on what they were saying. It got too strong for him to hold back any longer – but fortunately the doctor must have noticed his distress, and he unstrapped Ressler's wrists just in time for him to sit up and vomit into the bucket the doctor provided. Ressler thought vaguely that he should take advantage of this time when he wasn't restrained to try to do something useful, but he was too miserable and shaky to do more than glance over where the doctor had all of his supplies laid out on a few trays and a table. He saw a row of syringes and a bunch of surgical tools, before the doctor pushed him none too gently back down. His headache had not been improved by the change in position. He closed his eyes as he felt the doctor refasten the straps on his wrists.

Just then, Ressler heard Liz – at last. She sounded panicked. _Ressler! Ressler, can you hear me?_

His eyes snapped open. It was still hard to focus, but he did his best to tell her he had heard. But whatever she said next, he missed, because the woman had just said something very important to the doctor. He had to listen.

“--And when she does come for him, you'll be ready with what I asked you for?”

“Yes, as long as your guards are prepared to deal with a dragon and whatever forces she brings with her.”

The woman said, “Good. You've done well so far, Steven. He looks like he's totally incapacitated.”

The doctor replied with something about how he was planning to regulate this, but Ressler now had to try to focus on Liz again. He had to warn her that they were expecting her. If anything happened to her because of him...

_Don't you try to tell me not to come!_ Liz sounded furious. _Ressler, they're torturing you! I'm not just going to sit back and let this happen._

Shame rose up before Ressler could do anything to try to stop it. She could probably tell how much he was jonesing for another hit right now – how hard it was to think about anything but that and the pain caused by the withdrawal. He turned his head to the side and swallowed.

_You have nothing to be ashamed of_ , Liz said, softer but still with that undercurrent of fury. _I'm on my way, Ressler. Hold on._

The woman was leaving at that moment, and the doctor leaned over so that Ressler could see his face. “I'm going to relieve your discomfort for a little while, before your symptoms get too serious for me to handle easily.” He stuck another needle into Ressler's arm.

Seconds later, sweet relief spread through him, though it was tinged with disgust as he recognized the feel of the beginning of a high. So this was the doctor's plan: alternate between giving him a fix and sending him into withdrawal. It was cruel but clever. At least, now that the pain and craving were fading, he could use this time to try to plan some way out of this. There had to be a way he could get free. He needed to stop whatever plan this doctor and his friend had for Liz when she got here.

The doctor only allowed him about twenty minutes of reprieve before he was injected with more naloxone to get the withdrawal process restarted. But that twenty minutes was enough for Ressler to have come up with part of a plan, at least. Any future elements of it depended on the success of his first gamble. Of course, he would have to ignore the aches and tremors and everything else as best as he could, too.

When Ressler thought an appropriate amount of time had passed since the injection of the drug, he groaned and shut his eyes. “Going to be … sick again,” he said in a strained voice.

The doctor hurried over to undo the straps on Ressler's wrists. As soon as he was released, Ressler grabbed the man around the neck, tightening until he cut off his air supply. The doctor choked and fought back, with more force than Ressler was expecting. He seized a scalpel from the instrument tray and slashed at Ressler's arm. Ressler yelled, but held on while he used his other hand to push the scalpel away. To his relief, Ressler managed to get a hold of the doctor's hand and twist it away from himself. But the doctor hadn't given up. He continued to try to use the weapon, while Ressler held on doggedly. Finally, his tormentor made another choking sound and stopped pulling at the scalpel, so suddenly that the force Ressler was exerting on it caused it to fly upward and be embedded under the man's chin. Ressler flinched and allowed the man to collapse to the ground.

Quickly, Ressler leaned forward and unstrapped his ankles. Then he stood up, and nearly collapsed himself at the resulting dizziness and increased headache. There was no way to predict when a muscle cramp would hit, either. He wasn't going to be able to get anywhere in this state, just as he'd expected. There was only one thing to do.

Setting his jaw, Ressler reached out a shaking hand and picked up a syringe. There were vials of morphine on the table. He didn't really know how much he needed in order to be able to function, but he took an educated guess, erring on the side of not a lot. He filled a syringe with the amount he thought was reasonable, and carefully prepared it before (he tried not to think about it this way, but failed) shooting up.

As soon as he was more clear-headed, Ressler bent down to check the doctor's pulse. But based on the amount of blood pouring out of the wound caused by the scalpel, there was no need. That decided, Ressler picked up a square of gauze to tape awkwardly with his left hand to the gash on his arm, then selected a couple of scalpels from the instrument trays, and headed for the stairs.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. He couldn't hear anything from the other side of the door, but he still opened it as quietly as possible. A scalpel was ready in his other hand.

There was, in fact, a guard just a few feet away, leaning against the wall. The man was looking at his phone, but turned toward Ressler at the slight creak of the door hinges. “Hey!”

Before the guard could do more than start to reach for his gun, Ressler charged. He closed the distance between them and pressed the scalpel to the guy's neck. “Don't do it.” With his other hand, he went for the gun himself. “How many other guards are there here?”

The man gulped, raised his hands, but didn't answer. Ressler increased the pressure just enough to break the skin. “How many?”

“Five of us in the house, and a dozen waiting outside,” he said, flinching as blood started to drip from the tiny cut.

A dozen. That was far too many for Liz and whoever else she came with to take on without warning. Ressler put the guard's gun at his own waistband, and then took a step back so he could knock the guy out. Any of them that he could take out before she got here was one fewer they had to worry about. Then, as he took the guard's cuffs and used them on him, Ressler tried his best to make what he had just learned very clear in his head, so that Liz might be able to know it in advance. No matter what she had said earlier, he refused to let her walk into an ambush.

A few seconds later, as Ressler was moving down the hallway with the gun he'd taken at the ready, Liz contacted him again. _Ressler, we're almost there. I got your warning. We'll be ready for them._

That was good to hear, but it didn't mean Ressler was going to stand down. Liz wasn't happy with his plan, but there wasn't really much she could do about it from where she was. She did tell him to please be careful and not do anything too reckless.

In retrospect, Ressler agreed with Liz's assessment that he hadn't really followed that injunction. He supposed he could blame it partially on the drugs clouding his judgment, but he wasn't sure Liz would buy that fully.

He continued down the hall, keeping alert as best as he could, and stopped when he got to a doorway. It sounded like someone might be watching TV in the room just through the doorway. This time, there was no way to avoid killing the man when he heard Ressler coming. And the shot he had fired would probably bring others soon.

It did in fact turn out that Ressler had run-ins with a number of the other guards in the house after that. He avoided being in close contact with any of them until the gun he'd taken ran out of bullets. Then he was forced to fight hand-to-hand. That might have been fine if he were at his best, but he definitely wasn't. That was how he ended up grappling with one guy, who was at least six inches taller than him with a build to match, trying to keep him from using the small knife in his hand to stab Ressler in the neck. He was barely able, in the end, to keep the knife away from himself long enough that his opponent's only opening was low down on Ressler's left side.

Ressler cried out as the knife blade sank into him. He stumbled backward. The man who had stabbed him had let go of the knife, but now he was coming at Ressler again. And Ressler still had no weapons. He'd have to use the one that was still sticking out of his lower abdomen.

Ignoring the agony as best he could, Ressler wrenched out the knife and went for his opponent. Even being upright right now was difficult, but the other guy must have been running out of strength, too, because Ressler managed to get the best of him. But now he probably needed to get out of the house and find a strategic location to rest. He needed to try to stop the bleeding from the knife wound, too. Covering the area with his hand wasn't going to be enough to keep him from bleeding to death, if it took too long for Liz and the others to arrive.

Grimacing, Ressler bent down to search through the dead guard's pockets. There was a handkerchief inside. It would have to do for now.

He straightened up, nearly falling over but catching himself on the back of a chair. He could hear movement from further inside the house, and he was in no shape to fight anyone else. He had to get out of here. He had to hide.

Somehow, he made it out the front door. Then he dragged himself down the front steps and between the two vehicles parked out front without anyone having seen him. Or at least, no one followed him – which was good, because right then, Ressler was barely able to stand upright, much less fight anyone off.

He staggered just past the front wheels, leaned his back against the car, and allowed himself to slide slowly to the ground. Even with the morphine still in his system, the stab wound hurt like hell. As soon as he was on the ground, Ressler shook out the handkerchief he had pulled out of the last guard's pockets, folded it, and then pressed it firmly over the wound with his left hand. He gritted his teeth against the sharp increase in pain. The wound was, thankfully, not that large, but it was bleeding freely. He knew he would be better off if he hadn't had to pull the knife out, but he'd had little choice. The handkerchief would probably be soaked through in not too long.

Everything seemed to have gone quiet now. Ressler thought he heard the occasional distant snatch of voices, but they must not have guessed where he had hidden, because they didn't get any closer. And now that he wasn't moving anymore, the pain had receded to much more manageable levels.

Some time passed. He began to wish he'd stayed in the house. It was late evening by now, and the light was fading. That plus the blood loss meant he was getting cold. But it was too impossible to imagine dragging himself back around the car, across the driveway, and into the house. At least he was still conscious. And at least none of the remaining hired guns had found him.

At that moment, Ressler heard the crunch of tires on gravel, under the sound of sirens getting closer. And of course, he thought, blinking slowly, this would be when shock and whatever else started to pull him under. He deliberately pushed down harder on the stab wound with his left hand. The shock of pain brought him back to awareness. He was pretty sure none of the guards that were left would bother looking for him right now, if they heard the sirens, but just in case, he did his best to stay quiet.

It wasn't long after the car engines turned off that Ressler heard Liz call out for him, both out loud and telepathically. Replying out loud at a volume she could hear over the noise of the multiple agents arriving on the scene wasn't going to happen, so he did his best to tell her where he was silently.

_Are you okay?_ she asked. Before he could even reply, she came around the back of the car. However he looked, it must have been pretty bad. She looked horrified, and rushed forward. “I need medical help here!” she yelled. Then she crouched down next to him and said quietly, “What the hell happened?”

“Knife. It's not … as bad … as it looks. Probably,” said Ressler in between breaths. He tried to smile. “Or at least … it doesn't hurt … too much … right now.” It would, as soon as the morphine wore off. At least he was pretty sure the blade hadn't gone in far enough to nick his lung or whatever else.

“I thought you weren't going to do anything reckless,” she said, putting her hand over his on the wound.

“Never actually … promised anything,” Ressler pointed out. And he didn't regret having significantly reduced the danger she and the team faced now.

Liz snorted, but reached out her other hand toward his face. “I guess you didn't.”

Ressler was about to allow his eyes to close when a shot whizzed past Liz's shoulder. She ducked. A voice from the direction of the gunshot yelled out, “She's over here! And she found him, too!”

“Shit.” Ressler met Liz's tense gaze, now just inches from his face. He needed her to know what was at stake. “Liz, this woman …. she's … Connolly was involved with her. She's out for blood.”

Liz narrowed her eyes, and shifted so she was closer up against the side of the car. “She's not the only one,” she told him. A few seconds later, presumably after talking to Samar, she stated her desire to draw out the remaining assailants.

Ressler tried not to panic as whoever it was fired another couple of shots at them. Liz had come here with a team. How had they ended up in this situation, with the precautions they had both taken? He asked her where her backup was.

_I know the team is close_ , she replied, _but we need to get you out of here now._

He could see where she was going with this, and he didn't like it. He refused to let her be reckless and make herself a diversion – and he told her this, as forcefully as he could with his awareness levels decreasing again. Despite all that had changed in the years since they had begun this, he was still supposed to protect her with his life, not the other way around.

The person who had them pinned down fired another shot as Liz was asking a question Ressler only sort of heard. He flinched as the glass of the car window above them shattered down over their heads. There were shards of glass all over him now, and her, too. He tried to focus on her shoulder that was nearest to him. His right had was free. He could brush the glass off her. But when he tried to summon up the energy to do so, there was almost no response. All he could do was continue to shiver.

Ressler struggled to stay awake, but knew he wouldn't succeed for much longer. Someone shouted a warning, and Liz stood up. Now she was in danger. Ressler wished he had a weapon. She was being held at gunpoint … but he had thought Garrick was long dead... He had to tell Reddington the code to open the Box. He couldn't let Garrick shoot Keen, and Reddington wouldn't let him not save her, even if he had been willing. Ressler mumbled the code, hoping Red could hear him. But now Red was gone, and he and Keen were outside, and there was still someone pointing a gun at her. Two people. She was going to die, and it was going to be his fault.

Ressler gathered all his strength as best as he could, but before he had the chance to try to lunge for the nearest gunman, Liz changed, very slightly, right in front of his eyes. Her outline blurred and grew, before it returned to normal. He stared. Some memories came back through the fog of his confusion, and he knew it had been months after Garrick that he had first seen Liz transform. Of course it had. But then why did he feel so much like he had in the Box?

After that, there was more shouting, but Ressler thought Liz might be out of immediate danger. He sighed and closed his eyes.

That was his last moment of real awareness for a long time. But he didn't completely pass out, either. Instead, he was back in the damn Box again, watching Garrick hold a gun to Liz's head. Garrick didn't seem to care this time that Ressler tried to tell him the code. He just tightened his grip on the trigger while Liz stared at Ressler, pleading silently. He couldn't bear to watch the actual moment the shot was fired. Another scene was when Ressler found himself back at the old school in Prague where the Order was based, and somehow he was too late to save Liz from being killed by the cult. But they didn't even wait for her to transform before they slit her throat. A few times, the fog cleared enough for Ressler to hear Liz talking to him. She was reassuring him that she was fine. It was hard to be sure, though, when he would always sink back into the same kinds of dark, violent dreams or hallucinations.

~


	2. Chapter 2

Liz was trying not to focus solely on the fact that Ressler was coming back today, as her season had ended the day before. She had missed him even more than she'd expected. It had been all she could do to call him only once a day, which made her feel like she was about seventeen years old with her first crush. But she had the strong feeling he hadn't minded. He had certainly seemed eager enough – and it had seemed like he'd been having a good time with his family. Now, she stared at her phone. His reply to her last text had obviously been sent before he'd finished composing it, but she figured that was just because he was driving. There was no need to be anxious.

So distracted was she that she didn't notice that Red had entered the Post Office until he was almost at her door. His thoughts felt as serious as his expression, and her stomach dropped. “Red. What's wrong?” She stood up.

“Harold was supposed to have lunch with his wife today, but he never showed up at his house. And the man I had watching him has seen a suspicious vehicle parked near their residence for the past twenty-four hours.”

The cold feeling in her gut got worse. “Oh my God.”

“By my estimation, Harold is unconscious, since I haven't been able to locate him yet. Of course you can and probably should try, as well, but I don't expect any other result,” Red said.

Liz immediately cast out her awareness with a focus on Cooper's mind. “Nothing,” she said. “So what's our move?”

“I'm expecting more information on the suspicious car any minute,” he told her.

By now, Samar had come over, clearly guessing that something was up. Aram wasn't far behind her. “Cooper might be missing,” Liz informed them. Of course, this would have to happen while Ressler wasn't back yet.

A cell phone rang before either of the other agents could react, and Dembe took it out of his pocket and answered. After a moment of listening, he turned to Red. “West has a partial license plate number.”

“I'm sorry, a license plate for what?” Aram asked.

“The vehicle of the people who I suspect abducted Harold,” Red said.

To his credit, Aram got to work right away looking up the number, and checking traffic cameras. “I think I have something,” he said, a few tense minutes later.

“What is it?” Samar asked, bending over to look at his screen.

“Footage of a black van with plates matching the one Mr. Reddington's people saw, just a block from Mr. Cooper's address.” He mirrored the image to the screens above.

_Red, do you think this has something to do with Cooper joining my organization?_ Liz asked. It hadn't been that long since all the formalities had been taken care of.

_That is one theory, and as far as I know, there's nothing else new in his life that would attract attention,_ Red said. _So it seems likely._

“We need to put out a BOLO on that van,” Liz told Aram. Why did it always seem like when she tried to keep her friends safe, it backfired? At this point, it seemed like it was pure chance that Samar hadn't yet been targeted.

“Already done,” he said.

By the time Metro PD had found the van, it had been abandoned just ten miles away from Cooper's house. Liz dialed Ressler as she and Samar went to the scene, frowning when it rang and rang and went to voicemail. “Ressler. Pick up. We need you on this.”

“Where is he?” Samar asked.

Liz didn't have the time to do more than a cursory mental check, as they were pulling up at the crime scene just then. “I don't know. I thought he'd have had the chance to call by now.” All she could tell without more attention than she had to spare was that he wasn't too far away.

Though there were crime scene techs examining it, Liz didn't expect they would get much from the empty vehicle. Red had disappeared to follow his own leads. She reached out again, mentally, and other than a vague sense that her boss was still alive and probably relatively close, she still couldn't determine anything else.

Thankfully, it was only about a half hour later that they caught another solid lead. One of the cops who had been canvassing the area found a witness who had seen two men supporting another man get out of the black van and move to a sedan. The woman hadn't seen a license plate, but she remembered the make and model, and Aram was able to find more traffic cam footage.

All in all, the time between Red showing up at the Post Office, and Metro PD finding an unconscious but apparently otherwise unharmed Harold Cooper in an empty sedan was only two hours. Liz hung up from being informed that he was being sent to the hospital as a precaution, and then frowned at her phone again. Ressler still hadn't called. It had been easier to put that fact out of her mind while they were frantically searching for Cooper, but now she couldn't dismiss it.

_Red,_ she said, heart rate beginning to speed up, _I haven't heard from Ressler for more than two hours. And the last I heard from him, he was only a little over an hour away._ When she cast out her awareness for her partner, there was nothing. _And now I can't find him. This can't be a coincidence. Something's wrong._

There was a brief pause. _I'm afraid you're right, Lizzie. And given the relative ease with which you were able to find Harold, I'm starting to think his abduction may have been a diversion of sorts._

Liz couldn't breathe. She vaguely noticed Samar come up beside her and say something about Mrs. Cooper, but she didn't really hear it. _But who – who would be doing this? Why would they go after Ressler?_ She was aware that her mental voice had skipped straight from worry to panic.

_I don't know yet,_ her father admitted. _But at least the chances are good that they want him alive._

Liz closed her eyes and tried to take a breath. _Right._ When she opened them, Samar had moved to stand in front of her.

“Liz. What just happened? Where did you go? Were you talking to Reddington just then?”

She nodded, and tried to steady her voice before speaking. “I told him how long it's been since I had any contact with Ressler, and now...” She took in a sharp breath. “Now we're both thinking Cooper's abduction could have been a diversion, and Ressler might have been the real target.”

“You can't find him telepathically?”

“No,” she said. She tried to shake off the panic. Panic wasn't helpful. “But we can trace his phone. Oh, sorry, Samar – what were you saying about Cooper's wife?”

“Just that she's on her way to the hospital,” said Samar. “The officers who found him said they'll post a guard until he's recovered.”

“Good. And have them take a statement, obviously,” said Liz. Just because they thought the danger to him was probably over for the time being didn't mean she wanted to dismiss the idea completely. But knowing that he was being watched (and Red's man was probably watching him, too, as much good as that had done today) allowed her to not feel guilty about shifting her attention to Ressler.

The phone trace, which a worried Aram took charge of when they had gotten back to the Post Office, pinpointed a location about an hour out of town. “It looks like he's been there – or his phone has been there – for 71 minutes now.”

“They must have dumped it,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Who do we think is behind this?” Samar asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Liz said. “Someone who knows about the Task Force, and has the ability to plan a two-pronged attack.” _It seems like it's directed at me. Maybe that's paranoid, but otherwise, why Cooper and then Ressler?_

Samar shook her head lightly, and Liz gathered that she didn't think that was overly paranoid. “Could it be an associate of Tom Connolly?”

“It's possible.” Red's confidence that Connolly was out of the picture seemed to have been borne out over the past few weeks, but that didn't mean there couldn't be some facet he'd overlooked. “Or even David Kent, although...” She pressed her lips together. She thought she'd made herself abundantly clear to him and any of his people that any further violent actions on their part toward her or any of her people would not be tolerated.

Aram found several options for buildings or properties in range of the location of Ressler's phone that looked like options for holding someone. Liz decided to go to the scene, in the hopes that there might be any evidence at all. Samar accompanied her, and she insisted that Liz inform Red of where they were going, just in case.

Red told her that he would check into Connolly's situation again, to see if there was any connection he could have missed. He was certain it wasn't anything to do with David Kent, because he'd just had a conversation with Anna Marie Stowell. _Be careful, Lizzie. If this is an attack on you, it's almost a guarantee that you're heading into a trap. I won't tell you not to rescue your partner, but I will ask you to wait until you know more about the situation, and then wait for backup._

Liz sighed. Her stomach was in knots, and she knew that as soon as she had any more information about Ressler's location she would find it very difficult not to rush in immediately. Hell, she was half-convinced that the best idea once they found Ressler's phone might be for her to transform and fly over the area to see if anything stood out. But obviously she didn't need anyone to convince her that wasn't a good idea. If all she accomplished was to allow a mythical creature to appear on the news, that wouldn't help anything. _I know,_ she told Red.

Still, when they arrived to find Ressler's car abandoned by the side of the road, with his phone underneath the driver's seat, Liz could feel the panic flooding back in. The fact that there was no sign of foul play apart from his empty car didn't help much.

“It looks like there was another car in front here,” said Samar, gesturing to the tell-tale marks in the gravel. “It could have been whoever took him. But I don't think there's enough for any kind of help in identifying the vehicle.”

“I'm going to call Aram and see if he's narrowed down the options for where Ressler could be,” Liz said. At least that was something she could do. When that didn't prove fruitful either, Liz tried once more, desperately, to look for Ressler mentally. And this time, there wasn't just the vague feeling that he was alive somewhere. “Ressler!” she cried, both out loud and in her mind.

“Is he conscious now?” Samar's eyes widened. “Can you find him?”

Liz was already doing her best to talk to him, to find out. “He's conscious. Barely.” He was in pain. In fact, from what she could tell, he felt awful. But instead of answering her question about where he was, she sensed him trying to warn her that his captors were setting a trap for her. She swallowed. _Don't you try to tell me not to come!_ There was no way she would just sit around while he was being tortured.

His response to her insistence on this fact was shame. Liz's own stomach dropped as she realized that Ressler's captors had evidently deduced that he was an addict. They must have decided the best way to torture him was to shoot him up with drugs and then make him go through withdrawal. “God,” she whispered. The sheer cruelty of doing that to another human being... At least she could and did tell him that he had no reason to be ashamed. And now that she could track him, she could also reassure him that she was on her way. _Hold on._

“I need to look at a map of those possible locations,” Liz said out loud. “And we need backup out here, now.”

~~~~~~

She could tell Ressler was in pain as they got closer. At least he answered when she called out. When she found him outside the house, however, Liz was shocked that he was even conscious. “I need medical help here!” she yelled. Then she crouched down next to him. “What the hell happened?”

Haltingly, as if it hurt to speak, he tried to tell her that the knife wound wasn't as bad as it looked. But his smile of reassurance was much more of a grimace. The bleeding was slow, but continuous. “I thought you weren't going to do anything reckless,” Liz said, her voice trembling despite herself. She reached out to put her hand over his where it covered the wound.

“Never actually... promised anything,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed for a second.

She snorted. She supposed that was true. Before she could do more than admit it, though, a gunshot rang out and she ducked, which brought her face closer to his. “She's over here!” someone shouted. “And she found him, too!”

“Liz,” Ressler whispered. “This woman, she's... Connolly was involved with her. She's out for blood.”

“She's not the only one,” Liz muttered. Had this woman been on anyone's radar? She scooted farther away from the front edge of the car where they were, more out of the line of fire. There were more shouts, and another shot was fired. Samar was close, but she was pinned down by the guards Ressler had warned them about. From her angle, though her gun was in hand, Liz couldn't spot any of the people who were shooting at them. She couldn't remember when she had gotten separated from the other agents, either. _Samar, can you see any of these guys?_ she asked.

Her friend told her that she'd already taken out any of their assailants that she could see. That made sense, but Liz wasn't about to just accept the situation. _Well, we can't just sit here. We need to draw them out._

“Where's... your backup?” Ressler asked.

She thought his breathing rate may have sped up, and he looked so pale. She wondered, with a terrified jolt, how much blood he'd already lost. And if his lung was at all affected... _I know the team is close,_ she said to both her lieutenants. _But we need to get you out of here now._

Ressler scowled. “I'll live, Liz. You can't be... reckless, either. If you're thinking about making yourself... a diversion, you can think again.”

Liz pressed her lips together to keep from snapping back that it wasn't like he was going to stop her. He did have a point. But he also was clearly just about ready to pass out. Something had to be done. _Where the hell is the rest of the team?_ she asked. Another shot was fired, and the glass from the car window shattered above them. She felt it rain down on her head, and swore softly. That had been too close.

Ressler, by this point, appeared to be keeping himself semi-conscious by sheer force of will. He wasn't going to be able to get himself out of this situation. She couldn't carry him by herself in human form, and there wasn't enough room for her to transform safely even if there hadn't been too many people who shouldn't see that. (Once they got out of this, she was definitely going to practice that hiding-from-sight thing with Red. She did not accept that she couldn't do it.)

There was another shot, and then Liz felt and heard Samar's shout of warning. “Coming your way!”

Liz raised her weapon and turned toward where she felt the man – no, there were two of them – approaching. _Can you cover me at all?_ she asked Samar, who responded that she would try, but that her angle was off. Liz made sure she was in front of Ressler, and then the first man started around the hood of the car.

Before she could even fire, there was the click of a handgun being cocked behind her. “Drop your gun.”

Liz turned just enough that to confirm that she was surrounded. Somehow they had been quicker than she had thought possible, and they had managed to come at her from two directions. A reckless action might now be the only way she and Ressler made it out of this. “All right, I'll put down my gun,” said Liz, taking her finger off the trigger and raising both hands. “But first I have a question for you: do you know who I am? What I am?”

“If you think the fact that you're Raymond Reddington's daughter is supposed to intimidate us, you're wrong,” said the man who had come up from behind. He sneered. “And don't try any of that mind-control bullshit on us, either. We both have enough dragon blood to be immune.”

“Fine. Good for you,” said Liz. “But I wasn't even thinking about that. I was thinking I might just fly out of here. See, I don't think, even with two of you firing, that you'd be able to hurt me enough in time to stop me.”

The other man tightened his grip on his weapon. “What if we just shoot you right now, before you transform?”

Liz smiled. “Have you ever seen a dragon transform? It's fast. I'm not sure if it's faster than a bullet, but I'm willing to find out. And more importantly, there's not enough space here for a dragon at all, much less three humans and a dragon. My partner will be safe – I'll make sure of it. But you two? I probably won't even feel it when I crush you against one of these cars, or maybe under my feet.”

“You're bluffing,” said the first man, though she saw him gulp. “You're not supposed to show yourself in public.”

“That's right,” Liz said. “But it's not a law. And it's not a rule I'd rather die than break, that's for sure.” Finally, _finally,_ as she said this, she sensed that the rest of the team was closing in on them. All she had to do was stall, now, although getting these men to back down would be even better.

“No, you're not going to do it,” the first man insisted. He shook his head.

“You sure about that?” She turned toward him and deliberately released just the smallest amount of her hold on her human shape. She knew it would cause some kind of slight visible change, although she hadn't, of course, ever really been able to watch herself transform.

He swore and flinched backward. “Wait! Stop that! I'll shoot!”

Liz stopped, and regained her hold on herself. But she smiled again, making sure she looked back at the other man, too. “Did you know it actually takes effort for me to stay in human form? It would be so easy. It would be a relief.”

“I will shoot!” the second man cried, but now his hands were shaking.

“Freeze! Drop your weapons!” Samar's voice was part of the sudden clamor from the group of agents now surrounding them. Liz took the opportunity to aim her own weapon back at the man she was currently facing. She was breathing heavily, and it felt like it was taking extra effort not to transform, as if threatening to do so had increased the pressure her dragon energy exerted on her now.

But she didn't have time to feel sorry for herself. Once the hostiles were contained, all her focus was on Ressler. He didn't look good. She hadn't seen him immediately after Garrick, but she imagined he had to have looked pretty similar to how he was now. With the adrenaline of the situation fading, Liz found that there were tears on her face as she followed his stretcher to the waiting ambulance. As quickly as she wiped them away, they came back. _Ressler. Don't you dare die on me. Do you hear me?_

Samar put her hand on her arm. “He's strong, Liz.”

She nodded, still trying without much success to stop crying. At least she wasn't full-out sobbing. Yet. “I know.”

“Once Ressler is recovering, and everything has calmed down, by the way, you'll have to tell me how you kept those two men from firing on you, or taking you captive,” Samar went on.

Liz gave her the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I'll have to. But right now I'm going to – I need to –”

“Go with him,” Samar said, with a nod of her own. “I'll meet you there soon.”

“Thanks, Samar.”

~~~~~~

He didn't really regain consciousness in the ambulance, although he nearly did a few times. Each time, he was delirious and frantic, clearly imagining that they were still in some grave danger. “I'll tell him,” he groaned the first time, “I'll tell you the code! Just don't shoot her.”

Liz's heart squeezed, and she took his hand while trying to stay out of the way of the EMTs who were doing their best to keep him stable and lying down. “Shh, Ressler, you're fine. We're both fine.”

“Liz?” His eyes met hers, but she wasn't sure he was really seeing her.

“Yeah, it's me. I'm fine. No one's shooting anyone,” she said.

He had sunk back into an uneasy sleep after that. The EMTs had given him some kind of painkiller that wasn't morphine, after she had informed him why morphine wouldn't work, but it didn't seem to have a lot of effect. She could tell he was still in pain. And the pain – perhaps along with whatever withdrawal symptoms he was still suffering – drove him to keep dreaming or remembering scenes of danger, to himself and to her.

By the time he was wheeled into surgery at the hospital, Liz's control over her emotions was hanging by a thread. Part of her wanted to go with him, so she could continue to keep him safe, but she knew that was irrational. Instead, she all but fell into a chair in the waiting room, her head in her hands. When she sensed someone approaching, she looked up and was surprised to see Harold Cooper. “Sir,” she said, blankly. “I thought – are you all right?”

“I should be asking you that, Agent Keen,” he said, with a faint smile. Then he sat down next to her, leaning his cane on the chair next to him.

“I'm fine,” she said. “But you – they sent you to the hospital, sir. And it wasn't even this one.”

“I was released a few hours ago,” he said. “Just scrapes and bruises. And I've been told I have you, Samar, and Aram to thank for finding me.”

“You're welcome,” she said, though her smile faltered immediately.

He nodded. “You found Agent Ressler, too, I heard. How is he?”

Liz dropped her gaze to her lap. “I don't know. He lost a lot of blood.” Suddenly, it came over her that some of that blood was on her hands right now. She gasped in a breath. Now she could smell that it was his, and her stomach rebelled against that knowledge. “Oh my God.” Her hands started to shake as she stared at them.

“If you need to go clean up, I'll stay here,” said Cooper, his voice gentle. “I'll make sure there's someone waiting for him.”

Liz stood, not trusting herself to speak, and fled to the women's restroom. Once inside, she washed her hands up to her wrists, repeatedly. She also wiped the stains from her face, where she had forgotten and touched it. By the time she stopped, her hands felt raw, but at least the blood was gone. Or was it? She noticed some on her sleeve, and tried to get it out. Eventually, she gave up, with the stain only faded and smeared. She felt cold all over, and almost turned to run the few steps that it would take to let her throw up in the toilet. But the feeling passed. Ressler was the one who was hurt, who needed help. He needed her to not lose it. She was fine.

Straightening and looking at herself in the mirror until she was sure she wouldn't break down, Liz left the bathroom and went back to where Cooper was sitting. “I'm sorry about that, sir,” she said. “And I – I should tell you I'm sorry you were captured.” She sighed. “It seems like whenever I try to do what I can to keep the people I care about safe, it doesn't work like I'd hoped.”

“Liz. You have nothing to apologize to me about,” he told her firmly. “I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, my capture was not your fault. You got me out of a bad situation with Connolly – that I'd been foolish enough to get myself into without even fully considering the consequences, by the way.”

“So the people that took you – this was about Connolly?”

“I don't know who the people were, unfortunately,” Cooper said. “But the guy who seemed to be in charge was very insistent that if I'd stayed on Connolly's side, neither my wife nor I would be threatened.”

“They threatened Charlene?” Liz had thought she couldn't possibly feel worse, but now she did.

“They had a lot to say,” said Cooper grimly.

“I'm so sorry,” she said again, and her determination not to break down wasn't going to last too long if she kept having this kind of conversation.

Before she could go on, Cooper cut in. “Don't you think I understand that feeling of responsibility you're dealing with?” He smiled sadly, and sat back in his chair. “Guilt doesn't solve anything, I can tell you from experience.”

Liz dropped her head back into her hands. “Maybe it doesn't. But maybe you also understand when I say I can't just turn it off, either.”

“And you shouldn't,” he said. “It comes with the territory, and I believe it's part of what it takes to lead. Just don't let it eat at you, either. I really am fine, and I don't blame you in the least. I know we can take steps to make sure these people aren't able to deliver on their threats.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Eventually, she might believe him. “And yes, we will.” She would start by speaking to Red about Charlene the next time she saw him.

They sat in silence for some time. Liz didn't check her phone, or look for a wall clock. She just sat, and tried not to picture the blood spilling out of Ressler's side, or his agitation in the ambulance, or his shame when he knew she knew he was in withdrawal. It didn't work very well, but somehow she stayed almost detached from her own emotions about the entire situation. Still, she was aware that this state would not last long, that she would have to process it all soon.

By the time the surgeon came out, Samar was waiting with them, too. Liz stood faster than the rest of them, choking out, “How is he?”

“He's recuperating about as well as we could have hoped,” said the doctor. “There was no damage to any vital organ, and we were able to repair the tissue damage that there was. He also received a blood transfusion.”

Liz swallowed. “Can I see him?”

“He's asleep,” said the doctor. “But you can visit, as long as you let him rest. One at a time, please.”

Liz looked at the others.

“Go,” said Samar. “He'll want you there when he wakes up.” Cooper agreed.

When she got to Ressler's room, though, she had to stop in the doorway. He was only a little less pale than he had been the last time she had seen him, and he was so still. She took a deep breath. He was going to be fine. She knew that. “Hi,” she told him quietly. “I'm here.”

He didn't move or reply, not that she had really expected that. She entered the room and sat down in the single chair. Then she scooted it closer and reached out to take his hand. Whether or not it was a good time, apparently now was the time for the crying fit that had been coming since she had realized he was missing. She couldn't hold it back any longer.

No one bothered her as she sobbed, although she noticed a nurse passing by who seemed to prefer to allow her to maintain her privacy. Finally, her emotions mostly spent, she stood on shaky legs to blow her nose and then wash her face and hands at the sink in his room. As she was reaching for a paper towel, she felt a familiar presence and looked up. “Red,” she said. “You're not supposed to be back here.”

He ignored this. “Are you all right, Lizzie?”

She hesitated. “You saw. Or heard.” At least this time she had the excuse of being distracted by her grief and guilt for not noticing him approach.

“How's Donald?” he said, coming into the room.

Liz turned her gaze to her partner. Ressler still hadn't moved at all, though his breathing was reassuringly steady. “The doctor expects he'll recover just fine. But they drugged him, Red – intentionally, and now he has to go through withdrawal again.”

Red's expression darkened. “I suppose that was an efficient method of torture for these people.”

“He told me it was some woman who might have been having an affair with Tom Connolly, that did this,” Liz said. She cleared her throat. “I never saw her. I don't even know what she looks like.”

“Yes,” Red said. “However ill-prepared Connolly himself was to engage in a conflict with us, I must admit I had no knowledge of this connection. Thus, this woman, Heather Svy, was unfortunately able to take us all by surprise. At this point, it looks like all the personnel involved were personally hired by her. She seems to have been acting on her own. That is little consolation, and I will make sure that this isn't actually Connolly before assuming this is over.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “Did you find the woman, then?” She had barely had the time to regret not catching the woman behind this, but maybe she wouldn't have to.

“I did,” he confirmed. “Naturally I couldn't be as certain as I would have liked with the results of my interrogation, since she has dragon ancestry to protect her. But I can state with some degree of positivity that the woman hadn't yet contacted Connolly. Her goal seemed to be to trap you and do some kind of undisclosed damage in revenge before even informing her lover.” He paused for a moment. “And I must apologize again, since it turns out that I was not entirely correct when I said the Kents weren't involved in this.”

“What?” Liz clenched her fists.

“They weren't directly involved in this plot – but apparently Colleen Kent has been passing on rumors about your relationship with Donald. That's how Ms. Svy knew who to target.”

Liz could feel his disdain and anger on top of her own. She supposed Colleen had figured that fact out when she had confronted the woman in the parking lot a couple of weeks ago. “Where is Heather Svy now?” She would focus on the most guilty party for the time being, although she wouldn't forget to follow up with Colleen for spreading information that was none of her business in the first place.

“Still in my custody. A little worse for the wear, and awaiting a final decision on her fate,” he said. “Since Tom's friends in high places might feel inclined to take care of this woman as well, if you want actual justice for what she's done, I can't recommend turning her in to the FBI.”

Her jaw tightening, Liz said, “If you're inviting input, I think we should ask Ressler.”

Red smiled. “Perhaps so. It may be useful to the discussion to know that none of her team escaped. Besides three that the FBI arrested, the others were killed – a number of which, I might add, it looks like were taken out by Agent Ressler himself in his attempt to escape.”

Liz didn't answer, but looked down at Ressler again. Whether by Ressler or Red's people, that meant that whoever had administered the drugs to him must have been killed. That was probably just as well. She didn't think she would be able to find the patience to seek recourse through the law for the one directly responsible for doing this to him.

Just then, the same nurse Liz had seen before came by again. “Sir, we're only allowing one visitor at a time right now. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave.”

Red smiled pleasantly. “I do apologize. I was just leaving. Lizzie, I'll be nearby.”

Liz nodded. “Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

~  
It was the withdrawal symptoms that brought him out of unconsciousness in the hospital. The pain wasn't too bad – they must have had him on something, though he wasn't sure what was used in situations like his – but the craving for another hit was strong, and getting stronger. Ressler groaned and opened his eyes.

“Ressler.” Her voice was quiet. “What's wrong?”

Ressler turned toward Liz's voice and blinked until his vision cleared. She was sitting next to his bed, eyes on his face. She was worried. He just looked at her for a few seconds, noting how tired she seemed even as he was just plain glad to see her, alive and well. He wanted to reach for her, but he knew his hand would shake if he did. He sighed and turned away.

“The doctor said you would probably be entering the first stage of morphine withdrawal when you next woke up,” Liz said, without a hint of judgment. “Is that what's wrong?”

Without turning back toward her, Ressler nodded.

“How are your pain levels?”

He cleared his throat. “Not too bad.” His voice was hoarse.

There were some sounds of movement, and then she said, “That's good. Dr. Edelman has you on some medicines that are supposed to make the withdrawal a little easier, as well as help with pain.”

At that, he turned back toward her. Ignoring the cup of water she was holding out for him, Ressler said, “So the doctor knows all about … what they did to me? How many other people know?” His voice ended up sharper than he had intended, and he took a breath as he saw a flash of hurt in her expression. “Sorry.” He took the cup and drank some water. His hands were, in fact, shaking. At least he could drink the water without spilling it all over.

“It's okay,” she replied, taking the cup back from him and setting it on his bedside table. “To answer your question, no one but your doctor and I know anything more than that you're going to be in the hospital recovering for at least a few more days. Well, Red knows, too, but you know he'll keep it to himself. But even if Samar or Cooper learned you're going through withdrawal, they wouldn't judge you for something outside of your control.”

Ressler nodded again, although he wasn't sure he believed her. It wasn't like he had been held captive for long enough to be forcibly addicted, without his history to make it so much easier.

At that moment, the doctor came in and introduced himself as Dr. Edelman. Most of what he told Ressler was about what had been done for him to repair the damage caused by the knife. It hadn't been too severe, the man said, and he anticipated that Ressler should be up on his feet – if he took things slow and didn't overexert himself – in 48 hours. “By that point, you'll also be through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms,” Dr. Edelman finished. “We'll do what we can to mitigate those, and continue to monitor you closely.”

Ressler thanked the man, and he left. Ressler supposed he should be encouraged to have the reminder that he'd probably be feeling better in two days. But it was getting to that point that worried him.

“I wish there was something I could do to make this less awful for you,” Liz said after a moment, taking his hand. “I'm sorry, Ressler.”

“If you can stand to be around me while I act like even more of a short-tempered ass than usual,” he told her, “then you being here will make it better for me.” He squeezed her hand. “And none of this is your fault.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Cooper already tried to convince me of that.”

Ressler was about to continue on that topic, but it got harder once more to think about anything other than how much he wanted another hit of morphine. He shut his eyes. “God.”

“Craving?” Liz asked softly.

“Yeah.” Ressler tried to breathe steadily. He knew enough to know there was plenty of physical unpleasantness to deal with coming up, but this part might just be the worst. Then an idea occurred to him. “Liz?”

“What?”

“Could you...” He paused, trying to think how to put this into words. “Do you think you could … do something to my head, make it easier to think about something else instead of just focusing on how much I need...?” He trailed off, but she looked thoughtful.

“I don't know,” she said slowly. “But it's not a bad idea at all. I'd need to think about how to make it work without causing any unnecessary changes to the rest of your brain.” She smiled at him again, much more genuinely. “And I'm glad you asked me for help, Ressler. I'll do my best to make this happen for you.”

He returned the smile. “I already tried dealing with this kind of stuff by myself,” he said. “Just because I sort of managed it doesn't mean I want to repeat it.”

Liz nodded. “Well, if you're really okay with me doing this, I can take a look and see what I might be able to do.”

“I trust you,” Ressler said. “Just let me know what I need to do.”

Liz's gaze softened at his words. She stood up. “I'll see if I can be sure no one will interrupt us first.” She was quiet, maybe talking to Samar or Red. Then she walked over to stand as close as possible to him. He raised the head of the bed a little at her request. “Now all you should need to do is stay still and keep your eyes on mine.”

“Will do,” said Ressler. He tried not to feel nervous as she looked into his eyes. He couldn't feel any of what she might be doing in his head, which meant he had no distraction from the strength of his latest craving. Maybe that would make it simpler for Liz to target the correct parts of his brain. He took a ragged breath. At least he didn't find it a trial to have to look into her eyes.

A few minutes later, Liz blinked and said, “Okay. Uh, I think I can see what I'll need to do. Are you okay with me making it so that--”

“Do whatever you need to, if you think it'll work,” Ressler cut in. “As long as you're pretty sure of the extent of it.”

She bit her lip. “You know I've never done anything like this before. But yes, I can tell you I'm confident that I won't cause any-- changes beyond what you asked. I just hope I can actually help you.”

“I'll live, even if you don't end up fixing anything,” he said. And he would – it would just mean these next 48 hours plus would be pretty damn terrible.

“All right.” She leaned forward, and then Ressler wasn't aware of anything at all for some unknown period of time. When he came out of it, she was watching him in concern. “How do you feel?”

He thought about it – thought about the drug – and raised his eyebrows. “Pretty good. I mean, there are still plenty of the other symptoms, but I don't have the craving.” He took her hand again. “Thank you. Whatever you did, it worked.”

“Good.” She beamed at him.

The rest of his hospital stay passed mostly according to his expectations. Whenever he could, he slept. He got visits from Cooper and Samar, neither of whom made any comments to show they knew or had guessed anything about an addiction. Reddington visited shortly after Liz had hypnotized him into not having to deal with cravings. The man had been complimentary of how many of Ressler's guards and captors he had taken out. He had also praised him for the idea of having Liz help him get through the withdrawal. “Very clever of you, to come up with a new use for that draconic ability. Not that I anticipate there being a great deal of need for it in the future.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” said Ressler. The other physical symptoms were still going strong, and therefore he was still in some pain and uncomfortable even apart from the stab wound. But thankfully Reddington didn't hang around too much longer.

Liz stayed with him, as promised, as much as possible. She had to go in to the Post Office a couple of times, and step out to handle her other work, but most of the time for the two full days he was in the hospital, she was at his side.

When he was released the morning of the third day, Ressler was glad to find that the injury that had brought him there in the first place was healing very well. He could walk with very little pain – although he consented to being taken out to the car in a wheelchair (with minimal grumbling) at Liz's insistence. Samar was with them, and she drove them home in fact. Ressler understood that he wasn't up to the task of being Liz's guard right now, but it still galled him a little to have to sit back and let Samar and Liz do all the work.

A few days later, after dinner, Liz asked him if he was up for hearing what she and Reddington had found out about his kidnapping. “I can save it for another time, if you're too tired.”

“No, I think I have at least enough energy left to listen to this,” he said. She was standing over him where he sat on the couch, and he could just about see the nervous energy in her. “Can you sit down, though? I'd rather not crane my neck the whole time.”

“Yeah, sorry.” She sat, and folded her hands in her lap. “Okay. So, you already knew the woman who organized your capture was involved with Connolly.”

“She said as much, yeah.”

Liz took a breath, and her eyes flashed. “Well, that woman – Heather Svy – is in Red's custody right now, and she's told us some interesting things. For instance, she found out about your relationship with me via Colleen Kent.”

Ressler stared. He thought back to the confrontation in the parking lot, and clenched his jaw. It didn't shock him too much to learn that Colleen had most likely gleaned this information from that interaction. “What was Colleen's angle?”

She informed him that the Kents had been associating with Connolly and his mistress, and that David and his daughter knew Connolly were looking for ways to attack the task force. “I don't know, maybe Colleen thought this was something Connolly could use to get one or both of us fired,” Liz said with a shrug, “even though it's not actually against the rules.”

With a frown, Ressler considered this. “So what are you and Reddington going to do with Svy? And with Colleen, for that matter?”

“You have input in both of those decisions,” Liz told him. “Unfortunately, we probably shouldn't do too much to Colleen. She did, after all, only pass on some information.” But her expression was sour.

“Going to need to think about that,” he said, and she agreed. “As for Svy, you said Reddington has her in custody. But she's part-dragon, so I assume he can't just get everything that might be useful out of her mind.”

Liz shook her head. “Unfortunately not.”

“Well, I know she was going to kill me, after she tortured me and used me to bring you down.” Ressler shivered, remembering the expression on the woman's face when she had spoken to him in his cell, as well as what he had overheard when she had come to see how the doctor was doing with him. A part of him was still uneasy about the idea of the kind of justice that dragon society meted out, but that part seemed to matter less as time went on. Especially when it came to threats to Liz's life. “So when we're done getting useful intel from her, I'm not inclined to show her much mercy.”

Eyes dark, Liz said, “I'll tell Red you said so, and he can make the final decision. Unless you want to suggest anything more specific?”

“No.” He didn't think he could do that. Not this far removed from the moment. If someone had asked him after he escaped from that basement, his answer might have been different. His head started to ache, and he leaned back against the couch with his eyes closed. There was one more thing he wanted to say. “And I guess for Kent's daughter, I'd say we should put a watch on her. See if a good moment for an appropriate response comes up.”

“Okay.” He heard her stand up, and then felt her hand on his forehead. “I'll take care of it, Ressler. You get some more rest, if you want.”

“Guess I'll do that,” he mumbled.

~~


	4. Chapter 4

After Samar had dropped them back at their building, and Ressler was safely installed on his couch, Liz asked, “So, what do you want to do? You want to find something on Netflix?” She sat down next to him.

He closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her. “Sure.”

“If you're tired, you can just rest,” she said. He still looked exhausted.

“I'm tired of resting all the time,” he grumbled. “Let's watch something.”

She picked up the remote and flipped on the TV before scrolling through his queue. She found a show they'd started a week or so ago. “Is this okay?”

“Stop being so damn considerate and just start it, Liz,” he snapped.

She bit her lip, but did so. Apparently, the irritability wasn't completely gone yet, even though they'd dealt with the cravings. The episode started on screen, and she tried to focus on it.

“I'm sorry,” Ressler said quietly, rubbing a hand across his face. “I'm still being an asshole, aren't I?”

“Yeah, especially since you're interrupting the show now,” said Liz. But she smiled. “I can take it.”

He reached over and picked up her hand. “Thank you.” After a few seconds of watching, he added, “You could leave and let the last of the withdrawal pass instead of subjecting yourself to it, though. I'll call you if I need you.”

She squeezed his hand. “Nope. Now, shh. I'm trying to watch this.”

Despite his protests, Ressler fell asleep halfway through the episode. As soon as she noticed, Liz stopped it and went to turn off the TV, but that was enough to wake him again. “We can finish later,” she said, leaning over to touch his cheek. “You should sleep when you feel sleepy.”

He rolled his eyes, but his eyelids were still half-shut. “Fine. But only because it'll make you happy.”

“And that's because it'll make you feel better sooner,” she returned, and kissed him lightly.

He hummed, and then his eyes closed.

Liz waited until he was breathing steadily, then stood and found a blanket to spread over him. Then she took out her phone, making sure she was far enough away not to bother him before she dialed. “Red, I want to make sure we find a time for me to actually practice Lanneth's trick. It could have really come in handy a couple of days ago, and I'm tired of not being able to do it.”

Her father agreed. “Since you've already had occasion to consider the risks and rewards, I won't ask you to describe just how you think you would have used it to rescue Donald. I assume you'll be busy taking care of him today?”

“Yeah. He's still not moving around a lot yet. Depending on how he looks tomorrow, though, I might have some time. But that's not all I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You sound very serious, Lizzie.”

She sighed. “I am. We need to talk about contingencies. This whole thing with Connolly was too close. Even you didn't predict that Connolly would tell Cooper about us, did you?”

There was a pause. “Actually, it was one scenario I imagined. I didn't expect you to have to face the immediate fallout alone, however.”

“I'm not mad about that, specifically. It turned out better than I'd dreaded. But if my options had suddenly been either leaving or being arrested, I wouldn't have been sure of what to do.” She remembered the idea of quickly trying to hypnotize Cooper if it came to it, and grimaced. “I mean, short-term, I'd have figured something out.”

“I'm sure you would have,” said Red. “And I'm sure you'll agree this conversation would work better face-to-face.”

Liz thought for a moment. “Ressler's asleep right now. I guess we could meet at my apartment.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes.”

She wrote a quick note to her partner explaining that she would be next door if he needed anything at all. Then she did her best to get ready to have a discussion that would, doubtless, be uncomfortable. But it also made her more uneasy to keep putting it off.

~~~~~~

“Lizzie, I appreciate your responsibility to your organization,” Red was saying, “but there are a great many factors involved in this discussion.”

Liz met his eyes squarely. “Of course there are. Which is why we're talking about this now – so the next time some kind of crisis comes up, I don't have to tell Ressler or Samar, or Cooper for that matter, that I have no idea what will happen if everything goes sideways.” They had increased security watching Cooper and his wife, but that might not always be good enough.

Red nodded. “Why don't we start with you listing the options as you see them?”

She sighed, and paced in front of the couch, too anxious to sit. “Fine. Well, I assume there's room on your jet for me. That's one option. Although I...” She cleared her throat. “I don't know how I would even ask Samar, or my _boss,_ for God's sake, if they want to come with me.”

“But you don't have the same worry about Donald?”

“I already asked him,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I mean, not specifically about your plane. But I already know he would come.”

Red didn't offer any further comment. “What else have you considered?”

She started to pace again. “I know there are all kinds of ways you can make someone disappear.” Her throat felt strange again. “I guess there's a chance it might be safer if we don't go together. But I have to tell you right now that if that is the choice, between being safer and you disappearing without me, then I know what I'll pick. And I won't care what other factors you might bring up to change my mind.”

His expression softened. When he spoke, his voice was low. “And lastly? Are there any other options you've thought of?”

“Yes. I haven't decided if this would be much better or a whole lot worse than the others, but I guess – if the threat was just human, you or I, or both of us, could live as dragons for some time,” she said. “I mean, no human would think to look for a creature that doesn't even exist, whether we ended up staying in your territory or not.”

Red looked thoughtful. Finally, he said, “Lizzie, this overview proves you were underestimating yourself when you said you would only have short-term strategies in mind. Naturally, it's more difficult for you to see the broader picture, but that's no reason to discount what you've said.”

She frowned. “You can't just tell me I'm on the right track and leave it at that. That's not good enough.” Nor was it very comforting.

“No,” said Red. When he didn't say anything more for a minute, Liz started to think that he was still not going to actually give her anything. But then he seemed to decide, and went on. “Everything you listed is viable, though understandably lacking in some details. For instance, while it is, of course, ultimately something for you and her to discuss, I would suggest that one option for Agent Navabi would be for her to simply return to her home. It's unlikely anyone would pursue her there.”

Liz nodded. “I'd already wondered about that.”

“As for Harold, I doubt he would choose to leave his life here except under the most grave circumstances. Arranging someone to continue to watch him may be your best option.”

She swallowed. “As long as that works out better than it did a few days ago.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Overall, though, I predict that any interest in Harold driven by his connection to you or me would fade if we were gone. You aren't going to ask him to appear with you at any events having to do with dragon society, correct?”

“That's right,” she said. She had dismissed that possibility out of hand. The less either of the two of them had to deal with swapping positions relative to each other, the better.

Then Liz sat down at the opposite end of the couch from Red. He still hadn't addressed the issue that was potentially the most painful. But she wasn't going to beg. He had to know her well enough not to make her explain how wrenching it would be for him to abandon her again, how hard it was for her to even imagine dealing with that.

“Lizzie. I won't promise to take you with me no matter what,” he said softly. “I can't make that promise. I will always choose to keep you safe.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to let tears fall. She took a breath. “I'm not just going to sit back and – and be okay with that!” 

“I'll remind you of an important fact, however: you can find me, as surely as I can find you. If I ever have cause to leave, you must know it will be because I have to. And we both know it will be temporary,” he said.

Liz sniffed, despite herself. “When you say 'temporary', do you mean I'm supposed to be willing to wait another couple of decades?”

He stiffened, just slightly. “I doubt that would happen. But if necessary, yes.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. That comment had struck home. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Living as long as I have has allowed me to develop my sense of patience.” He sighed, and then looked at her with dark eyes. “That said, there was nothing easy about being away from you during those decades, with the single exception of knowing that you were safe, and loved.”

Liz took his hand and sniffed again. His anguish was almost as clear as hers in her mind. She couldn't let herself forget that. It wasn't fair to him. “Okay.” She still wished he could promise, but the reminder would suffice for now. It was a simplification to state that she could easily find him anywhere – even their link had limits – but she assumed part of his point was an acknowledgement that she wouldn't stop looking.

Just then, her phone chimed. “It's Ressler,” she said. He was just asking if she was all right, and if she wanted to get some lunch. “We're not done. Just let me tell him I'll be over in a few minutes.” She did so, adding that if he was really hungry, she could come over now. But he said he was fine.

“What else do you need to hear, Lizzie?”

She considered. “I guess there's nothing else.” He had been almost forthcoming, for Red. “I just don't want you to feel like I asked you to come here, and now I'm kicking you out.”

“On the contrary,” he said, and his smile was tired but sincere. “Now that we've cleared the air, and you don't have to be worried anymore, I'll leave you to take care of your partner. And do give me a call if you have time tomorrow to practice.” He stood.

“I will,” she said. “Red, I am sorry for what I said. You don't have to defend yourself to me about... that.”

He stepped closer to her. “Lizzie, when I brought you to Sam, I knew that even in the best case scenario, my decision would have irrevocable consequences.” He bowed his head and paused. “I'm more grateful than you know that you're at all able to understand the choice I made. That you can go beyond simple understanding and forgive me, even some of the time, is more than I dared to hope for.”

Liz closed the distance between them and hugged him, feeling his arms around her as well. She closed her eyes and relaxed. When she pulled away, both of them had tears in their eyes. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

By the time she was back in Ressler's apartment, she hoped she had achieved some measure of emotional equilibrium. Of course, he wanted to know what had been going on, which was hardly a surprise. “I was talking to Red. Just going over some ideas.” She smiled. “What do you want to eat?”

Ressler's brow furrowed. “Liz, I may be temporarily an invalid, but I can still recognize when you're changing the subject, and when you're upset. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “I promise. We had some important things to talk about, but it's fine. We're okay.”

He looked skeptical, but finally nodded. “All right. Uh, I'm happy with whatever you want to eat. I think my appetite's kind of off, so I'll let you pick.”

They watched the rest of the episode of TV they'd started earlier while they ate the pizza Liz ordered. Ressler seemed more alert, and less on edge. He did eat less than Liz would have liked, but she figured some was better than none and she didn't want to risk him getting nauseated again.

“How are you feeling, Ressler?” she asked him, after she'd put away the leftovers.

“Better,” he said. “I'm getting there.” Once she'd sat down next to him again, he leaned back against the couch cushion, looking at her. “You know, you're entitled to call me by my first name if you want to.”

She laughed, a little rueful. “I do know that. It feels kind of like I'm past the point where that would be a natural transition, though.”

He echoed her laugh. “I didn't realize my name was a time-sensitive issue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you're just trying to make me sound ridiculous,” she said. “Don.”

“See? Piece of cake,” he said, grinning.

“It might still be a transition,” she warned him. “But I can work on it.”

“Liz, you can call me whatever you want,” he said. “That's what I'm trying to say.”

“Whatever I want, hmm?” She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Any chance I can rephrase?”

She smirked. “That doesn't seem fair. You're the one who brought it up in the first place. But don't worry – I promise not to let my imagination run wild or anything. I'll keep it simple... Pumpkin.”

The look on his face before she burst into laughter (and he followed) was priceless.

~~~~~~

Though the day had been actually pleasant, especially in contrast to a few days ago, Liz's mind seemed eager to make sure she knew there was still plenty of trauma to deal with. When she fell asleep that night next to Ressler, having made sure he was comfortable, at first she slept deeply and without even moving. They both did – there had been plenty to make them tired recently.

The first images she saw were of fire, with the distant sounds of shouting and the smell of smoke. But that was an old dream, and Liz knew it wasn't real. When she tried to move away, to be somewhere else, though, what appeared was Ressler, bleeding out at her feet as she tried to protect him and herself. “Liz,” he gasped, “you can do it. You can change. Change, and then you can stop them, and we'll be okay.”

She wanted to. She had threatened the gunmen, her enemies, with that very action. Hadn't she? “Okay,” she said. As she got ready to relax her grip on her human form, however, with the sound of her partner struggling to stay alive still in her ears, the gunman in front of her blurred and changed. Suddenly, Frank Vandenberg stood there, a syringe in his hand. “Good,” he said. “It wasn't what I planned, but I do have enough dragon blood for this to work.”

Her heart stopped. “No,” she whispered, backing up, but the other man behind her still had his gun trained on her. Before she could take even one more step, the man's gun was pressed into her neck.

“Hold still,” Vandenberg instructed, an expression of anticipation on his face.

“No!” Liz shouted, struggling against his grip on her arm.

“Liz, it's the only way we can escape,” said Ressler.

“Stop, please,” she said, her voice weaker than she had intended. But the needle went in. Just like before, the first thing she noticed was how hard it became for her to breathe. God, this time there were no doctors, and no medical facility just next door. _Help me,_ she whimpered, as her vision started to dim. Vandenberg didn't want her dead. This didn't make sense. _If I die, you won't get what you want._ Her lungs hurt so much. She was already on the ground, despite not having any memory of falling.

“Liz!” It was Ressler's voice. “Liz, wake up!”

Now she couldn't save him, either. There was a vice around her chest, and Vandenberg would probably kill him when she was dead. _I'm sorry,_ she told him, though she couldn't see him anymore.

“Liz, you're dreaming. You gotta wake up right now.”

What? No, she was... she was dying, wasn't she? Her eyelids opened for a second, and there was Ressler, leaning over her. He looked worried. It was dark, but it looked like they were in a bedroom.

_I can't breathe,_ she said, still panicked. If it had been a dream, then why was it so painful to try to take in a breath?

“Yes, you can, Liz,” said Ressler. He stroked her face and wiped away the tears that were spilling from her eyes. “Can you try to just breathe slowly for me?”

_I can't!_ This wasn't anaphylactic shock, though. There had been no injection. So she should be able to perform the body's most basic of functions.

“Sure you can,” Ressler insisted. “We're both fine. There's nothing to worry about. So just breathe.”

Liz managed to suck in some air. It still hurt, but she focused as much as she could on slowing down. It didn't help that her vision was blurring again, this time for real.

“You're good, that's good,” said Ressler, stroking her face again.

Finally, her desperate, sharp gasps slowed and her racing heart calmed. She could feel that she was soaked in sweat. And Ressler... that wasn't just concern for her on his face. He was in pain. “Ressler, you'll tear your stitches.”

“I'm fine,” he said. “I'm not the one who just said I was dying.”

“Lie down, please, and stop bending over like that,” she said, with an alarmed glance at his injury site.

He shifted positions until he was lying down on his side, still facing her. “Okay. Now, you want to tell me what the hell kind of nightmare you were having? Do you get those a lot?”

Liz pushed her damp hair out of her face and turned toward him. She could tell her diaphragm would be sore in the morning. “You're not bleeding?” Her dream was still all too vivid in her mind.

He lifted the t-shirt he was wearing enough for her to see. In the dim light of his bedside lamp, the bandage over the stitches was untainted. “I'm fine. Tell me what's going on.”

She took another moment to just breathe. “I used to get terrible nightmares when I was little. But I don't think they usually came with full-on panic attacks.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don't _think_ they did?”

“They were pretty bad,” she admitted. “They were about the fire, where I got this.” She extended her right hand and wrist.

He took it in his left, and ran his fingers lightly over the scar and then up her arm. “Okay. I get why that would be enough to cause nightmares, but you were talking before you woke up a minute ago, and it didn't sound like it was about a fire. You were begging someone to stop, and you said if they didn't, you'd die and whoever it was wouldn't get what they wanted.”

Liz closed her eyes for a moment. She gripped his hand. “It started out back at the place where Connolly's mistress had you. You were the one that was dying. But then it was Vandenberg in front of me.” She had never told him exactly how Vandenberg had planned to ensure another generation of dragons, although the man had informed Ressler and Samar that was his goal.

Ressler's jaw clenched, and then his eyes widened. “Liz, you never said – he didn't, he never touched you, did he?” When she didn't immediately reply, he swallowed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't make you talk about it. I'm sorry.”

“No, it wasn't like that,” said Liz. She sniffed. Suddenly chilled, she let go of his hand and pulled the blanket over herself. “There was another drug, besides the one that made us all transform and then paralyzed us. It was also formulated for dragons, but this one was only for me and Anna Marie.”

Ressler stilled completely. She could feel his anger for her, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, choked. “Liz.”

“It would have made me go into heat,” she said, her eyes sliding away from his. “Except what it really did was almost kill me. I had an allergic reaction.” Despite her efforts to state the facts plainly and unemotionally, she could feel tears threatening. “I wasn't breathing. They had to put me on a respirator.” Her throat burned with the memory of waking up in the medical area of the facility, and her chest felt tight again.

“Shh,” Ressler said quickly, noticing when her breathing grew labored again. “It's over, Liz.” He made to reach over, then paused. “I'm not going to make you feel worse if I touch you right now, am I?”

“No,” Liz whispered. She scooted closer, and wiped the tears from under her eyes. “But I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hey, stop worrying about me,” he said quietly. At her halfhearted glare, his lips twitched into a brief smile. “I promise, I'll let you know the minute anything hurts.”

Liz sniffled, then sat up. “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.” She went into the bathroom, splashed some water on her face, took a drink, and then came back.

Ressler's eyelids looked heavy, but he smiled again when she entered. “You all right?”

“I think so.” She got back under the covers and scooted back to her previous position close to him.

“Why don't you come all the way over here, so I can hold you?” he suggested. “And before you say it, I'll make sure I don't pull you against my injury site.”

That sounded perfect. She turned around so he could spoon up behind her and put his arms around her. Then she sighed, doing her best to release any remaining tension she could feel. Safe, she told herself. They were both safe. _Thanks, Ressler. I feel kind of bad, though. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you right now._

He scoffed. “I don't think there's any rule that says only one of us at a time can be the caretaker. We're partners, right?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, already mostly asleep. And nothing disturbed their rest until morning.

~~~~~~

Practicing with Red the next day didn't happen until after lunch. Ressler told her he'd be fine for a few hours, and that he knew to call her if anything came up. “Go, have fun.”

Liz grimaced. “Maybe, if I can figure it out. Otherwise, I may be back really soon.”

Dembe and Red were waiting outside when she exited. “Dembe, do you get to be the audience for this?”

He grinned. “I already have experience with this role.”

Red chuckled. “Yes, you have quite the inside look into this process, which is something most humans couldn't say.” He looked at Liz. “So, you're ready?”

“This better work, is all I'm saying,” she said, getting into the car.

“I don't believe there's any reason it shouldn't,” Red said, when he had joined her. “I've never heard of any other draconic gift being contingent on percentage of dragon blood.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, but no one had even heard of this gift before we met Lanneth.”

“That is true. But I still have faith that you'll get it,” he said warmly.

At least this meant she got to fly for a little while, Liz reflected, as both of them took to the air in Red's territory. They weren't hunting, but it still felt good to stretch her wings. When they landed back where Dembe was waiting, Liz looked at Red. _All right. So. Tell me again how this works._

_It seems to be a matter of concentration and control,_ he said. _The mechanism isn't complicated. Think of it as nearly the same idea as any other mental manipulation you've already done._

_Is that what it is? More manipulation?_ That made her less eager to do this. Maybe she had instinctively fought against that facet the one other time she had tried to hide herself this way.

_The difference being that this action is completely temporary,_ Red said. _It's less, shall we say, forceful, which is, I believe, one of the reasons why it can be done to a number of people at once._

_And to dragons,_ said Liz, nodding. _Okay. That makes sense, I guess._

_The key is to picture the area where you are as empty – picture yourself as not there. Then, once you're sure you have that image, focus on the person or persons you want to affect,_ said Red. _Project that image to them._

Liz sighed. _Well, that doesn't sound overly complicated._ The first time she tried, however, both Red and Dembe reported that the effect was more like they were seeing a picture in their heads of the clearing as empty, but they could still see around it to see her.

_It's a different kind of projection than that,_ Red told her.

_Yeah, I'm getting that,_ Liz muttered. She twitched her wings.

_I'm not criticizing,_ said Red. _Dembe can tell you that it took me several tries to make any progress._

“Yes, at your second try, you've done better than he did,” Dembe said.

_And I'm happy that you can benefit from my experience,_ Red added smoothly. _This time, make sure to focus not only on the picture, but also on how you intend your viewers to experience it._

Maybe she had been wrong about how uncomplicated this process was. But Liz took a deep breath, thought of that same image as before, and then thought hard of both Red and Dembe experiencing it as real – of them seeing her disappear.

Red laughed, delighted. _Perfect, Lizzie._

“I only see one dragon,” Dembe put in.

_Why don't you try flying for a minute, to see if you can maintain it?_ Red suggested.

Liz took off, making sure to keep focusing on the illusion. Having that extra task to concentrate on was tricky at first, but she didn't feel like she was losing track of it. Neither of the other two said anything, either, which seemed to confirm that she was still hidden. That gave her an idea. She gained altitude and positioned herself behind where Red and Dembe stood. Then she dove, landed, and reappeared, all in as close to one flourish as she could.

Red turned his head toward her, giving the draconic equivalent of a grin. _Very good. I told you that you'd figure it out._

She folded her wings and sat, pleased. _Okay, now, you've done this twice while you're transforming. Does it work at all in human form?_

_I haven't had any success, unfortunately, apart from while I'm in the process of changing, as you mentioned,_ Red replied. _Naturally, you're welcome to try for yourself._

_Maybe I will,_ she said. _I'd like to get some experience with a larger group of people, too, at some point._

Her father agreed that could be beneficial when the occasion warranted. _I would be curious to see how this skill works, or doesn't work, with human telepaths, as well. You'll have to ask Ms. Lam if she'd be willing to be part of that experiment._

That hadn't occurred to Liz. Of course, Whitney hadn't even had reason to see Liz in dragon form yet. _Yeah. I don't think she'd mind helping out._

_Good._ The sun came out from behind the clouds at that moment, and both she and Red paused to enjoy the increased warmth. Then Red spoke again. _While we're practicing, I should attempt what I offered before: let's find out if I can use this ability to make someone else disappear. I'll try Dembe first._

The man turned to look at Red. His expression was intrigued. A second later, he seemed to flicker. It was bizarrely like watching an old television with bad reception, with the picture appearing and vanishing. Dembe looked down at himself, eyebrows raised.

_Not quite as simple,_ Red reported. The flickering stopped, leaving Dembe simply standing there. _Interesting._

“It's strange to watch myself almost disappear,” said Dembe.

_I'll try only influencing Lizzie to see it, this time,_ said Red.

And after another second or two of the same flickering, Lizzie reported, _Hey, it worked. I don't see him anymore._

_Excellent,_ said Red, and then his friend was there again.

_I'm going to try you,_ Liz told him. _Dembe, let me know how it goes._ She had the same issue as her father at first. He was right that it was more complicated, somehow. Maybe it was a challenge of point of view, when the intended target wasn't one's own self. Still, eventually Dembe told her she'd done it.

_Well. This has been very useful, I'd say,_ Red said, satisfied. _Lizzie, unless you want to spend more time practicing, or flying of course, we can take you back to be with your partner. Though I assume even he hasn't been able to get himself into too much trouble in this short of a time period._

Liz rolled her eyes. At least the dig at Ressler was milder than it could have been. Red seemed to understand that she was barely able to joke at all about her partner's safety yet. _I'm sure he's fine, but I should get back, anyway._

Before they arrived, Red got a phone call. It was short, and Liz couldn't figure out exactly what it was about from only one side of the conversation. When he had hung up, he frowned. “I have an update for you about how Colleen Kent's actions helped lead to Donald's kidnapping.”

Liz gripped her hands together. “Really.”

“Apparently, Connolly and Svy were guests at a dinner party of David Kent's more than once. My source doesn't have every detail, but somehow the topic of their mutual dislike for us came up. Connolly must have mentioned his plan to discredit you with the FBI, and as I understand it, Ms. Kent took the opportunity to fill him in on your relationship with Donald. Evidently she was certain of it, based on an interaction she'd had with you and him?”

Her guess had been correct, then. “But our relationship would only be against FBI regulations if Ressler was my superior.”

“Which is most likely why Connolly didn't use that information immediately,” Red said, nodding. “And Heather Svy remembered it for when she decided to express her own frustration that Connolly's plans to become Attorney General were thwarted.”

They had pulled up to the apartment by now. Liz found herself wishing she had physically attacked the simpering blonde that day, as part of her had wanted to. “So even when she's being spiteful, Colleen leaves the actual dirty work to someone else. She's like some kind of high school gossip queen, except she's dangerous instead of just a bitch.”

“Certainly dangerous enough for us to be on the lookout for our own opportunity to strike back. Nothing too violent, since as you pointed out, her original act was rather low-key, and I'd rather not go to war just now.”

Liz had to agree with that.

~~~~~~

“Hey, what were you going to say, in that last text message that got cut off?” Liz asked later that day.

“Which one?” Ressler asked, puzzled.

“The last one you sent before Svy.”

“Oh. It must have been something about how my week went,” he said, shrugging. “Why?”

Liz picked up her phone and scrolled through the message thread until she got to the one in question. “Here. I asked you how you thought your week went, overall, and you said it was good, and that you'd mentioned – something. The sentence just ends there.” She showed him.

Understanding dawned. “Ah. I was just going to tell you that I told my parents I was seeing someone I met at work. And that it was going well.”

She smiled. “I wondered if you were headed that direction. And?”

“And they were glad to hear it,” he said.

“Do they ever come visit you? Should I expect to meet them?”

“They have, sometimes,” he said. “It's been a while, so maybe they will again soon. And if they do, my mom at least will insist on meeting you.”

Liz nodded. “That sounds good.” Honestly, she wasn't sure how it sounded. Not that she was all that intimidated by the idea (an especially ridiculous notion when she considered how constantly Ressler had to deal with her father who happened to be a notorious criminal). It was more that she'd never had a mother – and Tom hadn't, either, so she'd never even had a mother-in-law to interact with.

“She'll like you, Liz,” Ressler said, into the silence that had followed her last remark. “And I think you'd like her.”

“No, I'm sure you're right,” Liz said. “And I wouldn't want to miss meeting them.” She just hoped that when it did happen, they could all have a nice time instead of having another in the series of crises that seemed to make up her life and the lives of her loved ones now.


	5. Chapter 5

~~  
One Month Later

When the number came up on her cell phone as she was walking down the stairs at work, Liz didn't recognize it. She answered with, “Keen.”

“Liz,” said a voice she hadn't been expecting in the least, “can I talk to you?”

Liz glanced around hurriedly and made her way to a secluded area. “What the hell, Tom? Why would you call me?”

“I want to ask you for the chance to explain things,” he replied. “I-- I know you have no reason to believe me if we just talk over the phone, but if we meet in person you can check for yourself if I'm telling the truth.”

So evidently he now had experienced enough meddling from dragons that he knew what they could do to a human mind. And she had to admit, it was tempting to have the chance to get some kind of an explanation she could trust for what her ex-husband had done to her this time. “That's not going to be easy to arrange,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “Not if you want to talk to me alone.”

She heard him sigh over the line. “If you have to let your bodyguard know, I guess that's fine, but this isn't going to work if Reddington knows about it.”

Ressler wouldn't be pleased to hear about this, either, but she knew he'd rather know about it than not. “He's not just my bodyguard,” she said, “but all right. I can arrange that.” She was about to give him her address, but she stopped herself. “Let me guess: you don't need me to tell you where I live.”

He admitted that he didn't. “So can I come by tonight?”

Liz took a while to reply. This probably wasn't a good idea. On the other hand, he was correct that she could be genuinely in charge of the situation this time, especially if Ressler were informed and nearby. Tom was also correct that Red would have something to say about this if he knew. “Fine,” she said at last. “Eight thirty. I'll ask Ressler to wait in his apartment next door, unless you give me a reason to need him in the same room.”

“You'll ask him to wait?” Tom said, sounding skeptical. “Doesn't he just do whatever you tell him?”

“Keep making comments like that, and I'll get Reddington and the task force to track you down instead,” snapped Liz. “It's probably a better idea, anyway.” She was already reaching out to see if she could locate him generally in the area, but besides knowing that he was local, she couldn't get much beyond that.

“All right, all right,” he said quickly. “I'm sorry. I'll see you at eight thirty at your apartment. On my best behavior.”

She sighed. “Yeah.” Then before either of them could say more, she hung up.

As she had guessed, Ressler was not at all happy about this plan when she told him privately a few minutes later. “So, what – he's just been lurking in the background, watching you, ever since whenever he got back to the States?” He said this quietly but with feeling, as they both sat in their office. “And now he decides to reach out to you, try to explain why he locked us both in cells and drugged you over and over before selling you out? And all of that is not even mentioning the murder he committed that nearly got pinned on you.”

 _I'm not expecting him to have some kind of perfect reasoning that will justify what he did, or make it forgivable_ , she told him, _but I think it might be worthwhile to hear what he has to say, anyway. I can make sure he's telling the truth. And then afterward, he's not just going to be able to slip away again. I can decide what to do with him._

Her partner frowned and stared at the file open on his desk. “All right,” he said with obvious reluctance. “But I'm not just going to let him make himself at home in your apartment without any intervention on my part.” He raised his eyes to hers, and the challenge in them was clear.

Liz was torn between irritation and affection at his protectiveness, so she settled on a nod. “Of course.”

The rest of the workday passed in an odd mixture of far too slow and far too quick. Liz was thankful that Red wasn't scheduled to get back from his latest trip until late that night. She knew that he almost certainly still had people watching over her, but she was sure Tom knew that, too, and would take it into consideration.

She and Ressler ate a tense, nearly silent dinner together in her apartment when they got home. When there was a knock on the door at 8:29, both of them flinched slightly, and then Ressler stood up. With his hand at his hip holster, he crossed the room and looked through the peephole. “It's him,” he said. Not that it would be anyone else.

Liz took a deep breath and came into the main room. Ressler opened the door and stared at Tom without even attempting to hide his hostility. For his part, Tom looked faintly amused. “Can I come in?” he said, looking past Ressler at Liz.

 _Let him in, Ressler_ , Liz said privately, not wanting to give Tom any ammunition for the idea that Ressler was some kind of servant. Her partner stood aside. As soon as Tom had entered, he patted the man down, none too gently.

Tom didn't resist, though his expression of amusement edged with contempt didn't fade either. “Do you really think I'd show up here armed, after calling ahead to set this up?”

“You haven't given me any reasons to trust anything about you,” Ressler replied, “so I'll do whatever is necessary to protect my partner.”

“Fine.” Tom looked at Liz again. The pat-down had not turned up any weapons. “Can we have the room now?”

“I'll be in the other room,” Ressler said, at Liz's glance. “Call me if you need something.” With another glare at Tom, he went into the guest bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Tom let out a sigh. He stepped closer and searched Liz's face. “So when you told me on the phone that he's not just your bodyguard, what did you mean by that?”

“Best behavior,” Liz reminded him sharply, crossing her arms. Who and what Ressler was to her was really none of this man's business. “Sit.”

He did so, and Liz sat in the chair that was as far away from him as possible. He didn't miss this fact, and his expression turned utterly serious. “Liz, I know you have every reason not to believe me, but that's why I'm here, so you can check to be sure I'm not lying: I didn't sell you out to Smith. I found out you'd been taken by Kaminsky. I was going to see who wanted to pay the most for a chance to get at you, and then I was going to take them out. That's why I found you on that boat: to keep anyone like Smith from getting to you first.”

“Really.” Liz returned his gaze.

“Really. Look and see if you want,” he said. “It's the truth.”

Liz bit her lip, and then leaned forward and did as he suggested. He winced slightly as she got past his mental shield, but didn't offer any resistance or complaint. And according to his memories, Liz found that he was, in fact, telling the truth about his plans. She swallowed and withdrew from his mind. “And you didn't want to tell me any of that when I woke up in that cell?”

“I didn't think you'd believe me,” said Tom, with a wry smile and a shrug. “Didn't know there was a way for you to be sure.”

Liz pondered this for a few seconds. Then she sighed. “Why would you try to do that for me, Tom?”

“Because everything we had – it wasn't all a lie,” he said, and she didn't need to check in his mind to know he believed he was telling the truth, at least.

She wasn't at all sure what to do with this information. She had of course wondered any number of times how much, if any, of her ex-husband's feelings for her had been real. Now, she had irrefutable proof that some of what he'd shown her during those two years hadn't been fake. In light of this, it was certainly hard to be anywhere near as furious at him as she had been when she woke up in the hospital in Cardiff. Then she frowned as something else occurred to her. “Wait. So does that mean you-- you managed to break Smith's hypnosis when we were leaving that abandoned building in Wales?” she asked. “Because I'm pretty sure I remember you arguing with him.”

“He was in a rush,” Tom said. “I guess he didn't do a very good job on his-- hypnosis? Is that what you call it?”

“It's as good a term as any,” she said with a shrug. So, probably helped along by his distant dragon heritage, Tom had been able to break a hastily-applied hypnotic command. That was interesting information to know. But there were still other things she needed to understand about her time on that island. “Why did you try to keep me drugged, if you really were trying to help me?”

At that, Tom looked uncomfortable. “I'm sorry about that,” he said softly. “It might not have been the best solution, but it was the simplest way I could think of to keep you from fighting me the whole time – which I knew you would, since I thought there was no way to make you believe I was on your side. And I did know about some of your dragon abilities, though obviously not all of them.”

“I see.” Liz nodded slowly. This was going to take some time to reflect on. After a pause, she asked, “So what's next? Do you go back to your old job again? Find another assignment?”

“I'm not totally sure I could, even if I wanted to,” he said. “Even though I was-- kind of between jobs when I heard you'd been kidnapped, my handler wasn't exactly thrilled when I just up and vanished.”

“Oh.” Liz hadn't thought much about that aspect of who he was. “So if not that, then what?”

“I've got a few ideas.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “But I have to ask you for a favor, first.”

She was unimpressed, especially when he told her what the favor was. “Those passports are in evidence,” she pointed out. Beyond that, they were the biggest symbol of all the lies between Tom and her, which made it seem doubly wrong that he should have them back.

“I know,” he said. “I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to, especially considering everything that happened surrounding them.” It was kind of eerie how much his words mirrored what she had just been thinking. “But my handler is probably watching all of my other safe houses, so I can't get to any of my other travel documents without attracting his attention. So if you want me to be able to get out of here and never bother you again, I'll need those ones.”

Liz sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face. “I can't just walk in and steal them from evidence.”

“Then I can't get out of the country, and I'll be in danger.”

She wished this didn't have to be so complicated. “I'll have to think about it.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod. “I'm just glad you're even thinking about letting me go.”

Silence fell between the two of them for another few minutes. Liz felt a questioning prod from Ressler, waiting in the next room. _I'm fine_ , she told him. _I don't expect this to take too much longer._ Ressler was glad to hear it.

“Liz, can I ask you something?” Tom said then, breaking the silence. She looked up at him and gestured for him to go ahead. He looked oddly shy for a moment. “Do you think it's possible for-- for a person like me to start over? Make a new life?”

“I thought that was what you did for a living,” she replied, but she granted him a tiny smile.

“Yeah.” He laughed once. “But you know what I mean.”

She found herself wanting to move closer to him, but she stayed where she was. “Yes. And yes, I think you can.” But then she looked away. Red would very likely not be pleased to learn she'd let him go yet again. Still, she wasn't going to kill him, and she wasn't going to leave him to Red's judgment or turn him in to the FBI. Not after what she'd just learned.

“Are you worried about what Reddington will say if you let me go again?” he asked. There was an irritatingly knowing expression on his face.

“He'd have a point,” snapped Liz, glaring at him.

“Liz,” he sighed, “I promise you, I'll leave. I won't ever bother you again, unless you want me around for some reason. And I'm going to try to do something worthwhile with my life from now on.”

She supposed Red might not have to know Tom had even been here – in theory, anyway. In practice, he would probably have some way of finding out.

“You know, while I'm clearing the air, there are things about Reddington that you don't know that I know,” Tom said then.

“And you want to tell me those things right now?” Liz raised an eyebrow. That seemed a little convenient. But she had to admit she was curious.

Tom took a slow breath. “I do. But … I can't.”

“You-- Oh.” Now this looked more suspicious, if Red really had hypnotized him about this. “What kind of thing would you two have in common? What other things would you know about him?” She looked at Tom's mind, as gently as possible with his shielding. Yes, there did seem to be something hidden there, that she couldn't access without causing him a fair amount of pain. She thought briefly about just seeing if Red was in range and asking him right now, what it was that Tom knew that he didn't want her to know. But there was a good chance her father would put her off. And she was starting to have a terrible suspicion what it might be about. She clenched her fists.

“Let me see if I can figure out a way around this,” she said after several seconds of thought. “I don't want to just push my way through what Reddington put in place.”

Raising his eyebrows, Tom agreed, “I'd rather you didn't, too.”

“Okay. Um.” Liz thought for another little while. Then, remembering how she and the team had gotten around the gag order with the guy who worked for Connolly, she pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from the end table. “Can you write it for me?”

He considered this. “I'll see how it goes.” But when he put the pen to the paper, his hand didn't move further. “Nope,” he said, with effort.

Liz took them back with a sigh. This was going to require more imagination. But there was no way she was letting it drop. If she was right... “Can you tell me whether it has to do with a job you did?”

Tom's eyes went blank for a minute. Then he shook his head, as if to shake himself awake. “What?”

That was all the answer Liz needed. She couldn't breathe. She stood up and nearly fell again, leaning heavily against the back of the chair she'd just vacated. Tom stood as well, looking at her in alarm. “Lizzie? Are you all right?”

She took in a shuddering breath. To have him call her that, right now... “I'll see about getting those passports to you as soon as possible,” she said, her voice carefully even. “I assume you'll be able to leave here without attracting attention from anyone who might be watching.”

Still looking worried and confused, Tom nevertheless agreed. “Thank you.”

With a tense nod, Liz walked to the front door and opened it for him. Tom said something about calling her in a few days, to which she nodded again, distracted. Reddington. He had done this to her. Had he done this? Could it be true that he had inflicted her lying, treacherous husband on her? When Tom made as if to reach out for her, Liz stepped back. “I'll see you when I've got the passports,” she said.

As soon as he was gone, Liz shut the door and all but collapsed against it. She was perilously close to losing her composure, but she had to keep it together. She had to talk to her father.

The door to the guest room opened. “Liz? Is he gone?” When Ressler saw her face, he crossed the room in a hurry. “What's wrong? What did he do?”

She shook her head, walking away before he could reach her. “It's not him. Or, well, not really. I--” She gasped in a breath. “I need to talk to Reddington before I can even begin to deal with this.”

“Okay.” He looked confused, but didn't approach her again. “By phone, or...?”

“Let me see.” Liz reached out for Red's mind, and found him closer than she might have expected. He must be just arriving. _I need to talk to you_ , she said to him, without greeting. _As soon as possible._

 _Good evening to you, too, Lizzie_ , was his response. But he had evidently picked up on her distress, because his next words were, _Is something wrong? Are you all right?_

 _I'm not in danger or hurt,_ she said impatiently. _You're still staying at the place near your airfield, right? When will you be there?_

Red was silent, but only for a few seconds. _Dembe and I will be there in fifteen minutes. Or we could come to you. What is this about, Lizzie?_

She continued to try to breathe steadily. _I'll tell you when I see you. Believe me. And I'd rather come to you._

 _All right._ He didn't speak further.

When she refocused on where she was, Ressler was watching her. “So? Where is he?”

“Just arriving,” she told him. “I'm going to meet him at the place he's currently staying.”

“I'll take you,” he said.

Liz hesitated. She'd need to talk to Red in private, but she had no good reason to tell Ressler to stay home. The only thing she worried about was how well she would be able to hold it together if he were the one driving her, as opposed to a cab driver. That was all assuming, of course, that Red really had done what she feared he had. But finally she said, “Okay. I need to talk to him in private, though. I don't think it'll be a very long conversation.”

“I'll bring a book.”

On their way to Red's current house, Ressler asked her, somewhat gingerly, if she could tell him anything about what had happened with Tom. She sighed and took a few minutes to organize her thoughts. She should have anticipated Ressler's question, but her mind was too full of the conversation she was about to have with her father. What she ended up telling him was, “He told me some things that helped me understand what he did in Wales a little better, but it was what he hinted about Reddington that worries me.”

“He knows something about Reddington?” She saw a mixture of confusion and suspicion on his face. “And you believe he was telling you the truth?”

“I know he was. I checked.”

“Right.” He fell silent, and they didn't speak again until he pulled up outside the house where Red was staying. “I'll be waiting here for when you're finished.”

Liz nodded to him and hurried out of the car. She had already confirmed that Red and Dembe had arrived and that they were inside. When she got to the door, she had to take a few deep breaths before she knocked. She needed to stay in control.

Dembe ushered her into the sitting room, where Red was reading a newspaper. He set it down as soon as she came in, and stood up. “Lizzie. Can you tell me what's wrong now?”

“I've just been talking to Tom. And before you say anything, I'm not interested in your advice or warnings,” she began, stopping him before he could do more than open his mouth. “I'm fully aware of who he is, that he's a pathological liar, not to mention a murderer. But I made sure he wasn't lying when he told me he knew something about you. You made it so he couldn't tell me any more than that.”

Red glanced behind Liz at Dembe, who slipped out of the room. Then he focused his attention on Liz. “Yes,” he replied. She wasn't sure, because it was such a rare thing, but she thought he looked just the slightest bit nervous.

“So I was trying to think what it could be, that Tom knows that you don't want me to know,” Liz said. She bit her lip. Anger and hurt and betrayal were welling up in her, and she didn't want to lose control of her emotions in his presence. Not now. “And all I could think was that it must have been something you two did before you came into the FBI that day, asking for me. Knowing what Tom is, that would mean you must have hired him for a job of some kind.” She met his eyes. “So I'm asking you to give me the dignity of answering me honestly: did you hire Tom to enter my life?”

He swallowed, then nodded and said, “Yes. Before he switched his allegiance to Berlin, I hired him.”

Liz felt the words like a blow to her face. She staggered back. A part of her – the part that still craved love, acceptance, and anything even vaguely close to a normal relationship with her father – had been hoping she had guessed wrong.

“Will you let me explain, Lizzie?” His voice was quiet, but there was a note of what might have been desperation under his request.

“What could you possibly say to make this better?” she cried.

“I didn't hire him to make you trust him or fall in love with him,” Red went on despite her protest. He had the same expression he had worn when he finally told her who he was to her. Like he expected each word to cost him dearly. “He wasn't supposed to get involved. He was only supposed to watch you, to keep you safe. But Berlin--”

Liz held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop.” She could see where he was going with this, but she couldn't handle any excuses right now. She couldn't even handle looking at him right now. Staring past him, at a painting of a pastoral scene hanging on the wall, Liz said, “I let Tom go. I'm not planning to see him again more than once, not that it's any of your business. I can't force you to leave him alone, but I'll ask you to, anyway. I don't believe he poses any further threat to me.” She took a breath, willing her voice not to break. “And I'm going home now. Ressler's waiting in the car.”

“Lizzie,” he started, but she shook her head and turned away, all but running out of the house. The door slammed behind her, and she dashed down the steps to where her partner was waiting. It was getting harder not to break down, but she could manage it. She needed to manage it, anyway, at least until they were home.

~


	6. Chapter 6

She had begged Ressler immediately upon getting back in the car not to ask her about what was going on until they got home. By the time they had gotten inside, the turmoil of her thoughts had built to the point that she half expected that everyone in a mile radius should be able to detect it. And perhaps there was a grain of truth to that notion, because Ressler's expression of concern had grown steadily. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but insistent. “Liz. What happened?”

She swallowed, not wanting to dissolve into tears just yet. But her voice shook so much that she stopped speaking almost as soon as she started. “Red, he... he didn't – he –” By this time, Ressler had his arms around her. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to control her breathing. _Can we go inside first?_

She felt him nod, and then he ushered her into his apartment. “What happened?” he repeated gently.

She huffed, and wiped away a stray tear. _Nothing. I mean, it's something he did._

Her partner's eyes widened, but he kept silent.

Liz sighed. She still didn't trust herself to speak out loud. _And the worst thing is – well, I haven't had the chance to figure out yet what the worst thing is._ A sound between a laugh and a sob escaped her. _Anyway. I wish I was more shocked, I guess, that without talking to my pathological liar of an ex, I'm pretty sure I would never have found out._

“This is based on something Tom said to you?” Ressler's voice sounded tense.

“Yeah, and when I confronted Red, he admitted it!” she cried. _He told me flat out that he was the one who hired Tom to come into my life. My own father, and he would have let me keep believing it was all Berlin._

“What?!” She felt his fury. “And this is something he admitted?”

Nodding, she rubbed her hands across her face. Having gotten the worst of it out of the way, she spoke out loud. “He said – he said he never meant for Tom and me to get involved. That wasn't supposed to happen.”

Ressler still looked thunderous. “So, what, Tom was supposed to be security, or something?”

“Something like that,” she said. “And I get the impression it was after we did get involved that Tom started working for Berlin, instead.” She didn't want to get into any discussion of when and to what extent Tom's feelings for her had become real. The idea was still too confusing and unwelcome.

“Huh.” He looked less angry, but only slightly.

“So, I could almost feel like I have no reason to blame him, except that he didn't tell me. Never once did he happen to mention that, not only did he personally know Tom and know exactly what kind of person he is, but he hired him.” She closed her eyes again. It still hurt to think it, much less say it.

“And he wouldn't have even told you now if Tom hadn't put you onto it,” said Ressler, sitting down next to her on the couch. He shook his head. “I'd say that's unbelievable, but like you said...”

“It's very believable,” Liz finished. Even now, after everything they'd been through and shared, Red was still keeping secrets from her about her own life – big ones. He still refused to trust her. “Do you know he even made sure Tom wouldn't be able to tell me? All Tom could do was hint that I really needed to ask Red something about him.”

Ressler took that in with raised eyebrows. After a minute, he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

She huffed again. “I don't know what I can do. I can't stand the idea of doing nothing, of just pretending this isn't yet another betrayal. But everything I do now is about him.” She put her face in her hands. “Even if I just stay home without doing anything, I'm in his territory. It's like he made sure I, I need him to accomplish anything to do with being a dragon.” Her stomach twisted. This was a realization she'd been able to hide from herself when things seemed good between them. Now it was terrifying.

“Liz,” Ressler said firmly, “he doesn't own you. No matter how much he might act like it.”

She sniffed, and didn't look up. “I have to not act like that, too, though. And I'm honestly not sure where to begin.”

“What about Leah Weston?”

Liz blinked. “What about her?”

“Well, you've asked her for advice before. I'm just saying you could ask her instead of Reddington sometimes. It might be a start.”

“Maybe,” Liz said. She sighed again. “Right now, I just wish... I want to not be doing this anymore. Any of it. I'm so tired of it all.” She could feel tears threatening once more.

He moved closer to her and took her hand. “I'm sorry. I don't want you to feel trapped. I wish I could be more help.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you. You do help, Don. You help this all feel a little less crazy.”

“Good.” He pulled her to him and kept his arm around her. “But that's not all I meant.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, and went on. “You already know, but I want to say it again, anyway: I've got your back. I hope we can figure out something less drastic, but if you ever decide you want to get the hell out of dodge and try to start over somewhere else, I'll support you. And if it means we have to go against Reddington, even temporarily, I've still got your back.”

Liz tensed slightly, then slumped against him and finally started to cry in earnest. If she tried to consider this situation objectively, it wasn't like it was worse than finding out that Red had killed Sam. But that had been a long time ago, before she had known who Red was – and who and what she was. She had thought things were different now. It had been comforting, in the midst of the constant upheaval that was her life now, to at least be able to count on the fact that the big, painful, personal secrets were over. But she had been mistaken. Again. If it hadn't been for her partner's arms around her, she would have felt like she was falling into a bottomless pit. She clung to him and sobbed.

~~~~~~

An hour later, Liz was asleep, having rejected any idea of eating dinner first. Ressler still felt a cold, helpless rage when he thought about her defeated expression and red, swollen eyes as she'd said she'd rather just go to bed. It was only around eight o'clock, so there was no chance he would feel like joining her soon, even if she'd wanted the company. At least she hadn't retreated to her own apartment.

He had tried to eat, but found that he didn't have much of an appetite, either. How much more betrayal was Liz supposed to be able to handle? Somehow she'd withstood Tom, and then all the excruciating secrets Reddington had chosen to reveal in stages before now. But Liz had clearly hoped that was behind them all now – hell, even though Don would never trust Reddington as much as she did, he'd wanted to believe that, too. And now her hopes had been dashed, and her trust crushed. Again.

Just as his thoughts turned back to whether it would ever happen, that she might choose to get out of this life and try something new, there was a knock at the door. He winced, glancing back at the bedroom. There was no sign of movement from Liz, though, so he quickly went to the door and opened it.

Raymond Reddington stood there, and if Ressler hadn't known better, he would have thought the man looked downright uncomfortable. “Good evening, Donald.”

Ressler skipped past any pleasantries. “Liz is asleep. She must have been pretty tired, after crying for almost an hour.”

Reddington's eyes widened fractionally, and Ressler could see the pain in them. He cleared his throat. “I see. Then I won't trouble you.”

“Wait,” said Ressler, as he turned to leave. “You're smart enough to already know this, which is what I don't understand, but you obviously need to hear it. Liz trusted you. I don't know how many chances she's given you to try to be a decent person to her, much less act like any kind of father. I believe you usually do want to protect her, but that's not enough. You keep breaking her trust, and even she isn't going to keep offering it again – no matter how much you manipulate things so she's stuck with you hanging around.”

The other man looked suddenly exhausted, and old beyond the usual way he wore his years. He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and closed it again.

“If it were up to me, Liz would get on a plane and get out of here, somewhere far away from here and away from you,” Don went on, still feeling that cold rage. “But I don't make choices for her. What I will do is to tell you to stay away until or unless Liz contacts you.” And even though he still sympathized with Liz's need to know her father, right now he wished she could give that up. “Otherwise I'll treat you like a threat to her safety and well-being.” His fists clenched.

Reddington's eyes glittered for a moment. Again, he seemed about to speak. Then, suddenly, he simply nodded, with a defeated expression almost matching Liz's. After that he turned and walked away. Dembe followed silently behind him, as always.

Ressler waited until he couldn't see them anymore, and then exhaled. He shut the door, and went back to sit heavily on the couch. He hadn't been sure how Reddington would respond to his warning. Making a move of his own in a matter between Liz and her father was, perhaps, a risk, but it was one he felt justified in taking.

It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes later that he was startled out of his thoughts by a scream from the bedroom. Before he could reach it, the door burst open and Liz flung herself out of it, her face white and eyes wide and shattered. “We have to go, we have to help him!”

“Liz! What's going on?” He almost thought she must be dreaming, but her anguish was certainly real enough. And she was holding her holstered weapon in her hand.

“Red. He's hurt. I think –” Her voice faltered. “I think he's been shot.”

“What?!” Quickly, he made sure his own gun was at hand.

“I could feel it. I still can,” she whispered. “He's not really conscious anymore. We have to go!” By the end of her utterance, her voice had risen again in intensity and pitch.

“Liz, I need you to find out about what's going on from Dembe, first, if you can,” said Ressler. “I'm not letting you run into a situation where someone's going to be shooting at you, too.”

Briefly, she stopped short and glared at him. “You're not _letting_ me? You can't stop me!”

“Maybe not, but I don't want to have to try.” He held her gaze.

Finally, she nodded, and her eyes unfocused as she communicated with Dembe. “He says there were two shots, and only one hit him.” Her lips trembled. “Dembe thinks it was a sniper. They took cover, and he returned fire. He thinks the guy might have left, but there's no telling if he'll come back. They need backup.”

“Let me call this in,” Ressler said. “Get them a team, and an ambulance.”

“Fine,” said Liz. “But I'm going to leave now.”

Ressler sighed and dialed Cooper as he followed her out the door. He asked Liz for at least a general idea of Reddington's location, and passed that on. “Team's on their way. Cooper asked for more details as soon as we have them, and then he'll send an ambulance.”

Liz looked at him from the passenger seat and nodded. She was still concentrating on tracking her father, and her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. “He's close.” She told him to take the next right. Then she straightened. “Just a few blocks away.” As soon as he'd made the turn, she was able to give him an address, and Ressler updated the team. He also texted Samar a succinct summary of the issue, and told her where to find them.

The moment the car was in park, Liz was opening the door and running toward the black Mercedes. _The shooter's gone,_ she told him as she ran. _I think he left just as we pulled up._

He was glad that she'd checked, but that didn't mean he thought they were safe. His weapon drawn, he followed as fast as he could, scanning their surroundings as he went. He could hear the sounds of sirens approaching.

Liz was already on her knees beside a fallen Reddington by the time he caught up to her. Her face was pale, but she was focused on holding some kind of cloth to the bloody wound on her father's chest. Dembe, also kneeling, had his hands on the wound, too, and he looked anguished.

Ressler almost asked if Reddington was going to make it. It didn't look good. But it didn't take any telepathic ability to know that neither Liz nor Dembe wanted to even think about the possibility that he wouldn't. And of course none of them could really know if he would.

Before the ambulance arrived, Dembe demanded Ressler's help moving Reddington into the man's car. “No hospitals,” he insisted. “None of them are secure enough.”

Ressler began to protest, but Liz was already climbing into the back seat of the Mercedes, still maintaining the pressure on Reddington's bullet wound. “Ressler. Either stay and tell the FBI I'll get a hold of them later, or come with us.”

Reluctantly, he got into the front seat, and the car sped off, the sounds of sirens approaching. Then he took out his phone, but before he could dial, Dembe spoke again. “Both you and Agent Keen need to deactivate your phones. We can't risk a trace. Send a message to Cooper if you must, but that must be all for now.”

“What about Samar?” said Ressler.

“Include her,” Dembe agreed. “Then I must insist you remove the batteries of your phones.”

Though it made him very uncomfortable to do this, Don sent a quick text to both Cooper and Samar that they were moving Reddington to a secure location for medical attention, and that he or Liz would be in contact again when it was possible. Then he deactivated his phone as Dembe had asked, and took Liz's to do the same when she passed it to him with her left hand.

Dembe pulled in to what looked like an abandoned warehouse, but it quickly became clear that he (or, Ressler supposed, possibly even Red himself) must have mobilized something on their way there. There was some kind of crash site set up here, with medical equipment ready to receive a patient. He, Liz, and Dembe got out and supervised as the team moved Reddington onto a stretcher and then into an enclosure of hanging plastic where the surgery to save his life would take place.

Liz watched through the translucent curtain for a full minute before turning to Dembe. She didn't speak, which puzzled Ressler for a moment. Then it came over him with a jolt that Liz was probably temporarily in charge of Red's organization. And there was no reason she would need to include Ressler in this conversation, if it was about that. It wasn't a welcome feeling. But he also realized that it couldn't be fun for her, either, to have double the responsibility. More than double, taking into account the relative size of Reddington's organization in comparison with hers.

After the silent exchange had apparently ended, Liz turned back to Ressler. “I'm about to tell Samar where we are. More backup is better, but I don't want a whole FBI team just yet. If no one's found us yet, and we don't draw attention to ourselves with a huge movement of agents, maybe we can at least stay hidden until the surgery is over.”

“Okay,” said Ressler. Whatever she and Dembe had been talking about, it had seemed to take longer than what would have been necessary for just this decision. “So you just want Samar, for now.”

“Yeah,” she said. After a pause, during which her gaze went unfocused, she added, “She's on her way.”

Suddenly, before Ressler could do more than begin to acknowledge this, Liz drew herself up sharply. She gasped, then went straight inside the plastic tent. Don didn't follow her inside, but he got close enough to see that she was bending down next to Reddington's bedside. And Reddington was at least partially conscious.

This latest silent conversation was short. Liz left the medical team to their jobs about thirty seconds after she'd gone in. When she came out, she looked determined, although she also wiped a tear off her face. “He said we have to find a man named Leonard Caul.”

Ressler winced as he noticed the smear of blood Liz now had on her cheek. He cleared his throat. “Where do we start, without getting the FBI involved?”

“He said Dembe would know,” she said.

Dembe's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. He described the location of an apartment nearby, and something that they could find there that would be important to this situation. “It has to do with the Fulcrum.”

Don frowned, at a loss. By her reaction, however, Liz obviously knew what Dembe meant. Then she sighed, glancing back toward her father. “And there's been no sign that we've been followed?”

“Nothing so far,” said Dembe. “I would go to the flat, if I could. But I can't leave him.” He swallowed. “Elizabeth, this needs to happen now. I would not ask you to go if I had any other choice. Raymond wouldn't want you to see the flat. You must not tell him I told you about it.”

“All right,” Liz said quietly. “But you'll call if anything changes? Anything at all?”

“Of course,” said Dembe.

“Wait, dearie,” came the voice of the older woman with gray hair cut in a severe style, who had been at the warehouse when they arrived. Ressler couldn't remember her name, although he knew she was one of Reddington's associates. “If you're going to be in public, you need to clean up a little, first. There's a sink and mirror over this way.” She pointed.

Ressler watched Liz flinch when she glanced down at her hands. For a moment, he could see the desperation and fear in her eyes, until her determination covered it again. He wished he could take her in his arms, but he knew she wouldn't accept that kind of comfort right now even if she didn't have something she needed to do.

“Here,” said Dembe, once Liz was finished washing her hands and face. He handed Ressler a set of keys. “Take the sedan in the side alley.”

Don thanked him, wondering briefly if anything had been done to his FBI SUV, or if it was still parked at the crime scene. “So,” he said, after they were both in the car, and he had put the keys in the ignition, “what's this Fulcrum?”

“A blackmail file,” said Liz. “I don't know much about it, but I know it's a big deal. Considering Reddington needs this right now, this thing that's where we're going, it must be why he was shot.”

“And how long have you known about it?” Not that he was actually angry she hadn't told him; if it was this dangerous, he was almost angry Reddington had told her.

“Since he told me he's my father. He said it was part of the reason he had to leave when I was little,” she said.

“Ah.” She didn't seem to want to say anything else, and he could hardly blame her. Especially on top of what she had already gone through earlier this evening, he would have done anything to let her just rest. At least Reddington wasn't exactly at fault for this development.

The apartment that Dembe had directed them to was nothing like Don had expected. It was so... normal. Like an apartment anyone might have had – comfortable, pretty small, and lived-in. “This is Reddington's?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” said Liz. The color had drained from her face again. She was looking at the framed pictures in front of the amply-filled bookshelf. And several of them were of her.

Don felt a lump in his throat as his eyes fell on what was clearly a shot of her at her high school graduation, beaming and proud. He realized why Dembe didn't want anyone to know about this place – it was intensely private, for an intensely private person. He felt like an intruder. “You know, as long as we're sure there's no one else here lying in wait, I can go out in the hall.”

Liz met his eyes, her own glittering with unshed tears. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I'll just check the other rooms first,” he said, leaving her to stare at the pictures. He stepped into the kitchen, which was organized yet on the edge of crowded with stuff, like the rooms he'd already seen. A noise made him whirl around, his gun out. But it was just a cat. A cat? “Sorry,” he whispered to the animal, holstering his weapon again. The cat jumped onto the counter and approached him.

Numbly, his mind blown by the implications of Raymond Reddington owning a cat of all things, Ressler gave the animal a pat. “I draw the line at feeding Reddington's cat,” he told it quietly. “I'm not even supposed to be here.”

Shaking his head at himself and the craziness of all of this, Ressler made sure the bedroom and bathroom were clear, and then rejoined Liz briefly. “It's all clear. Don't let the cat startle you, though.”

“Cat?” That shook her out of her daze. “You're serious. Wow. Okay, uh, I won't.”

“I'll be outside.” But it was only a few minutes later that she came out as well, carrying a small metal-sided case. “Is that it?”

“I don't know what else it could be,” she said, her voice low. “Let's go.”

In the minute it took them to get out to the car, she went from withdrawn and lost in thought to taut and wary again. She bit her lip. “Ressler, if there's a way you can take a longer route back without it being too long... I'd appreciate that.”

“You got it,” he said, pulling away from the sidewalk. “But you don't sense anyone in particular, do you?”

“No,” said Liz. “Not right now. I can't help feeling this is the calm before the storm, though.”


	7. Chapter 7

~~~~~~

Dembe and Liz were having a quiet (though not silent, this time) discussion over whatever was in the case she'd been sent to find when Samar made her way over to talk to Ressler. She had obviously arrived while he and Liz were out. “How is Liz holding up?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. It was past ten o'clock now, and she had already been tired before this had started. “She's doing fine. I mean, she's staying on top of what needs to be done, taking her responsibilities seriously. But I know she's exhausted.”

Samar nodded. “So how did you both get here in the first place? Did Dembe call her when it happened?”

“No,” he said. “She – she felt it. When Reddington was hit. She was asleep, and she woke up screaming.”

Samar's eyes widened. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Again he reflected that it seemed particularly unfair for Liz to have been trying to sleep off the exhaustion of one trauma, only to be shocked awake by another one.

After a pause, Samar said, “You have to know how much it's driving Cooper crazy not to know what's going on, or where Reddington or Keen are. I told him I would remind Liz to tell the FBI when it's safe, but he still didn't want to let me go.”

He winced. “I get that. But she and Dembe are pretty convinced Reddington is safer with fewer people knowing where he is, for now.”

“Wait. She's Reddington's proxy right now, isn't she? Isn't that how it works for dragons?” Samar raised her eyebrows as the realization dawned. “She seems to be handling it as if she was accustomed to it.”

“She does,” he admitted. Even though Dembe and the other woman were still playing major roles, Samar's observation was right. He was simultaneously impressed, proud of Liz, and also faintly alarmed. He couldn't help worrying that, based on what they'd seen in the aftermath of the incident with Brendan Wilson, if Reddington didn't make it, here, Liz would be expected to take up her father's mantle. And she was clearly not unable to do so. There was no way she could both run an enormous and complex criminal enterprise and stay a federal agent, however.

“And if her father dies...”

“I know,” said Ressler quickly. “That's another reason to hope he doesn't.”

Samar regarded him for a moment. “Especially since we'd be obliged to follow her. I don't know about you, but I think that would be quite a lot of cognitive dissonance to attempt to deal with, personally. Much more than we deal with now, even.”

Somehow he hadn't gotten that far in his worries about the future. But she was right again. He wasn't about to make some kind of ultimatum, even to himself. What he did know was that he didn't want to be part of a criminal organization. “The thing is,” he said quietly, “I don't think Liz wants that, either. For herself, or for us.”

“Have you two talked about this, then?”

“No,” he admitted. He thought about Liz's earlier tearful declaration that everything in her life was tied up with Reddington. “Not exactly. But she's been pretty clear before about putting whatever boundaries she can between her personal life and dragon society.”

Samar nodded. She turned to watch Liz and Dembe for a few more seconds. “Then, yes, I hope all the more for her sake and ours that her father stays alive.”

When the doctor pushed his way out of the plastic sheets, Liz froze, then walked purposefully to meet him. “The surgery was successful,” said the man.

Liz grabbed Don's hand so tightly that it went numb. “Thank God,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat, and spoke louder. “Does that mean he's going to be okay?”

“I'm afraid I can't say for certain, yet,” said the doctor. “He's stable for the time being. If his vitals continue to improve, I'll be cautiously optimistic.”

“If the situation happens to change, is he stable enough to be moved?” Reddington's other lieutenant asked.

The doctor frowned. “I wouldn't recommend it. If it becomes absolutely necessary, however, he could be moved, as long as it's to another medical facility ready to receive a patient in critical condition.”

“Can... uh, can we see him?” Liz asked. She hadn't let go of Ressler's hand yet.

“He's still unconscious, but you can go in if you'd like,” said the doctor.

Apparently by common consent, Liz went first. Of course, the plastic curtains didn't offer much privacy, so Don figured she might not be able to get as much catharsis from the moment as she needed. She looked almost shell-shocked as she came out.

Ressler didn't blame her in the least. From what he could see, even if the doctor hadn't told them Reddington wasn't out of the woods yet, it would have been obvious. He looked... 'frail' wasn't a word that Ressler would ever normally apply to Raymond Reddington, but it was jarringly appropriate now.

Once Dembe and the other woman had their chance to go in, Liz faced them all and took a deep breath. “We still haven't found Leonard Caul. And since there's been no sign of another attack yet, I'm about ready to call Cooper and ask for his help with finding this guy. I'm still not going to update him on where we are, unless we all decide that's the best idea, but he should know Reddington is out of surgery.”

“In terms of FBI assistance looking for Caul, I would agree with your suggestion,” said the other woman. “But I also don't trust that there wouldn't be a leak, if we passed on our location.”

“Cooper's solid, but I see what you mean,” said Liz. “I guess I can ask him if he'd feel better if I told him and only him more details telepathically.”

“Maybe he'd rather not know, in case someone orders him to tell,” Samar put in.

Liz winced. “Good point. I'll ask that, too.” She pulled out a phone from her pocket – which Dembe must have given her, Ressler guessed. She kept her conversation with their boss concise and to the point. “If you want to know more, I'll have to tell you, um, in a way that only you hear.” She was quiet as he responded. “No, that won't be a problem. Unless you'd rather be able to deny that you know. All right.”

She flipped the phone shut a minute later. “Cooper knows where we are, and he'll pass on that I told him Red came through surgery in a secure location. He still wanted to know more, of course. But he said he'd let us know what they find out about Caul.”

After this, there were no events of note for some time. Everyone stayed vigilant, but it was late now and Don knew their focus might suffer because of it. Liz was alert to the point of anxiety, despite the shadows under her eyes. He knew she hated waiting around even in the best of circumstances.

“I could really go for a cup of coffee right now,” she muttered to him, after an hour of nothing but tension. Reddington was still unconscious, and there was no update on the man he'd wanted them to find. She touched her left hand to the scar on her right.

“I hear you,” he agreed, fighting back a yawn. Then he pondered how best to phrase his next words, knowing she didn't want to hear them. “Liz, I think everything and everyone is as ready as we can be for now. Why don't we find you a place to sit and rest? Just for a little while.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don't know if you've noticed, Ressler, but I've got a lot of people answering to me right now. I can't just take a nap.”

“He has a point, dearie,” said the other woman. “You won't be of any use to anyone if you over-exhaust yourself. And Raymond wouldn't like it.”

Her chin went up. “I don't care what he wouldn't like.” But then she sighed, and Ressler saw her lip tremble. “What if there's another attack?”

“Then you'll wake up, or we'll wake you up,” said Ressler.

“Fine,” she said. “But assuming I can even find a place to sleep, you can't let me sleep too long. Dembe, Mr. Kaplan, you need to rest, too. Not to mention both of you,” she added to Ressler and Samar.

Yet just as Ressler was wondering, in the lack of any other great options, whether it would be weird to suggest that Liz sleep in one of the cars on this property, Dembe's phone rang. The man listened briefly, and then held the phone out to Liz. “It's for you. This is one of the men who is charged with watching your apartment, and yours,” he added, turning to Ressler.

Liz frowned and took the phone. “Yes?” Her eyes widened. “What? Is anything missing?” She exhaled, then covered the mouthpiece and told Ressler, “Both of our apartments were broken into. Apparently nothing's missing, though.” Then, expression still grim, she returned to the call. “I see. Uh, hold on a second.” His partner looked at him again. “This guy says they'll look for trace evidence, but it doesn't look like there'll be any. And he wants to know if we want someone to come and put everything back.”

“I know the person he is suggesting. He is very discreet,” Dembe put in.

Ressler ran a hand over his face. He had to admit that the idea of having to deal with a trashed apartment – or Liz having to deal with it – whenever all of this might be over, was not pleasant. Maybe he would feel differently later, but he thought the distastefulness of having a stranger sort through his things would be outweighed by having to deal with it themselves after this. “I guess I'm fine with that if you are, Liz.”

She nodded, and positioned the phone next to her mouth again. “We'd appreciate that. Thank you. That's good to hear.” Then she hung up and gave the phone back to Dembe. “They had to be looking for the Fulcrum. Although why they would think I have it, I don't know.” She pushed her hair behind her ears.

“And I assume there's more security at the apartment building now?” Ressler asked.

“Yeah.” She met his eyes. “There's nowhere for me to sleep here, Ressler, even if I could make myself relax enough to do it.”

She sounded almost wistful. But she had a point: the most bed-like place Don could think of that was inside the building was Reddington's car, and he was hardly going to suggest that she try to take a nap a foot away from her father's blood.

The rather improbably-named Mr. Kaplan opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a call on the two-way radio. “We have movement on the perimeter.”

Instantly, all thoughts of rest abandoned, Liz, Ressler, and Samar joined Reddington's people in getting ready for a possible assault on the warehouse. More guards outside reported seeing movement. “This may be more than we can handle,” said Mr. Kaplan grimly, after hearing the latest guard's news.

“Then I'm calling Cooper,” said Liz. “Our cover's blown, anyway.” She didn't take out her phone, but a few seconds later, she informed them, “He'll personally pick the team. They're on their way.”

It was close to one o'clock in the morning when the assault started. They had one more warning from the guards outside, and then there was a single pop, followed in quick succession by more gunfire. Don heard shouts and a few screams. He gripped his service weapon, and made sure he was close to Liz.

His partner was staring toward the entrance closest to the racket, her unholstered weapon by her side. Then she suddenly jerked her head up a moment later. She whirled back toward the plastic tent, her eyes wide. Over the growing clamor, Ressler thought he saw her lips form the word, “Red.” _They woke him up. He should still be resting._

Ressler frowned, and saw by the reactions of the others that they had heard her, too.

Mr. Kaplan leaned in closer to Liz and spoke quickly. He couldn't catch what she said, but Liz apparently didn't like it. She shook her head. Eventually, though, she must have relented. The other woman turned and went into where Reddington lay, leaving Liz to look after her for a few seconds before returning her attention to the front of the warehouse.

“You okay?” Ressler asked, moving close enough to speak quietly and still let her hear.

_I'm fine. Mr. Kaplan's going to try to get him to stay asleep._ She blinked rapidly. _He's... They have him on a lot of meds right now. Her mental voice sounded shaky. It's stupid, but to hear him... like that, plus the pain itself..._ She trailed off.

Considering how difficult it still was for Ressler to think of Reddington in that kind of state, he could understand her being thrown off. “He's going to be okay. We'll get through this,” he said, and hoped he was thinking it clearly enough for her to hear one way or the other.

She didn't exactly acknowledge the reassurance, but he did see her take a deep breath. _Mr. Kaplan also said I need to be out here. Which makes sense, I guess._

“But you'll still be able to tell if anything happens you need to know about,” he pointed out.

Several more shots were fired just then. Their radios crackled, but before any voice could come over the speaker, there was an explosion at the door. “Take cover!” Ressler yelled, ducking behind a pillar. Grenades. These people weren't fooling around. And if the FBI didn't show up right now, he didn't like the chances of any of them getting out alive.

He glanced to his right, where Samar was behind the next pillar, but still leaning out to shoot when possible. She was focused on the task at hand, but he was sure she had come to the same conclusion. To his left... His brain froze in horror as he saw Liz edge out from behind her cover in time to surprise one of the men in riot gear as he approached. She knocked his hand off his gun and and pulled him closer. Was she already out of ammo? What the hell was she doing?

Then he saw her stare fixedly into his face. Her lips moved, and the man ceased struggling immediately. Though the sight of her hypnotizing someone chilled him, as it always did, it dawned on him what her plan must be – especially when the man straightened up, provided cover for her as she went back behind the pillar, and then grabbed and subdued another one of his own companions before bringing him over to receive the same treatment.

Don did his best to keep his attention on his own fight, but he couldn't help glancing over in amazement as Liz forcibly recruited – was it ten? It looked like at least ten of the next men to enter the warehouse, to join their side. And it made a major difference. Maybe she was too tired to do any more conscription afterward, but the men she had grabbed fought fiercely for them.

By the time the FBI joined the fray, it was obvious that the tide was turning against the attackers. As far as Ressler could tell, Reddington's people had suffered some losses, but not nearly as many as they could have. And he, Liz, Samar, and Dembe were still fine, and still fighting.

In the end, of their enemies, only the ones Liz had turned remained alive. There were actually eleven of them, Ressler saw. Two had been killed by their unhypnotized comrades, but there were nine who now looked extremely confused as the FBI team snapped handcuffs on them and made to usher them out of the building. Liz, her face expressionless, asked the team leader if she could speak to the suspects for a moment before they left. And, though it probably seemed odd that she needed to get in each of their faces, she did so. Ressler noted that she kept her voice quiet enough that in the hubbub of agents coming and going, and EMTs checking out the wounded, he couldn't hear the resonant quality that she was no doubt using to make sure they didn't remember what she'd done.

Samar joined Don as he stood back and watched. “I didn't believe it when I saw the men who had joined our side. That was until I saw Liz with the last two guys. She undoubtedly saved our lives.”

Don nodded. She could have easily lost hers in the process, but he decided not mention that at the moment. He wondered if there would ever be a time that his partner stopped shocking him with her bravery – or recklessness, depending on how charitable he felt. It didn't seem likely that she would.

~~~~~~~

Liz didn't know how much later it was when she finally had the chance to sit down. There was one chair in the plastic enclosure, next to Red. According to Mr. Kaplan, he had slept through much of the clash, although he had been irritated to know he was out of action during something important. When she entered, Dembe was talking to him. But he looked up and smiled to see her. “Lizzie.”

Dembe excused himself, and Liz put her hand on his arm as he passed. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he told her, with a smile, and then left.

“Red, how are you feeling?” She sat down in the chair and searched his face.

“I'll live,” he said, not dismissively, but as if it was a given fact. “You look tired, Lizzie.”

Immediately, she fought off a yawn. “You were the only one that got any sleep tonight.”

“Yes. Dembe was telling me how you spent these past hours,” said Red. He regarded her seriously, head tilted. “I haven't forgotten what happened before the shooting. Dembe wouldn't have blamed you for leaving the management of the situation to him, in light of how disappointed you were with me. But you insisted on holding the reins, and did it ably, I'm told.”

“I'm still mad,” Liz said quietly. “But I had to be sure you were safe.” The ice-cold, paralyzing terror of losing him was still easy for her to find. She rubbed her eyes until she saw stars. It had been a long time since she had felt this level of bone-deep weariness. It would have been one thing if the day before this attack had begun had been even close to calm.

He was silent for a moment. “Lizzie, we'll be moving to a new location shortly. It will be somewhat more comfortable than this, and when we arrive, I suggest you take at least the rest of the night to get some rest. I estimate that my enemies will need to regroup, as well.”

She clenched her jaw. “I think the fact that my apartment was broken into tonight proves that these enemies are mine, too.”

His expression darkened. “I hadn't heard that. Was anything taken?”

“Not as far as the guy on the phone could tell,” she said.

He nodded. “And I assume, since you spoke to this person on the phone, you were also assured that your security would be raised.”

Liz sighed. “Yes. I also know you don't have enough men if there's another attack.”

“Dembe is already looking into that,” he said calmly.

“Okay,” she said. Had this happened after another day, or if the betrayal she'd felt earlier had been any less raw, she would have taken his hand, or tried to embrace him without hurting him further. Instead, she simply looked at him and cleared her throat. “I'm glad you're all right.”

His eyes were even darker now, and his voice was hoarse. “Lizzie, when you're rested and feeling better, I would like to talk to you about – about Tom. I know you don't want excuses. You're right not to.”

Liz sighed. She didn't want to do this now, but she also couldn't pretend she'd have the strength to shut him out, even for a short time. She swallowed. “I don't...” Her voice trembled, and she gathered what little strength it felt like she had. “I don't know, Red. But we'll see.”

She stood and left the area while she still had any energy to move at all, not looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

~  
The new location where they relocated after the fight at the warehouse was, in fact, much more comfortable. When she arrived, Liz made sure that Red was going to be safe in the part of the complex where he was, first. By then she was so tired she was surprised she could even see straight.

“Liz,” said Ressler, as she stood and watched Red's gurney being wheeled into his heavily-guarded room, “come on. You're hardly even standing up by now. Let's go find that room Reddington said was ready for you.”

He was right, Liz realized, blinking. She was swaying even as she just stood in one place. “Okay.”

Her partner supported her as they walked back through the hallway the direction they had come. Dembe was in front of them a moment later, and Ressler asked him a question. Liz didn't really hear it or Dembe's answer; she was too busy trying not to fall over. Fortunately, they didn't have much further to go before they got to the room.

Liz didn't see much of what the room looked like. All she saw was the large, inviting bed. She slipped off her shoes, pulled off her jacket, and crawled onto the bed. Once her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

Her sleep was solid and dreamless for some hours. But sometime as the morning went on, an old nightmare intruded: the burning house, the dark, smoke-filled hallway, the firelight flickering on the walls around her. She was carrying her stuffed rabbit, and someone – someone was leading her by the hand. She thought she knew who, this time, but she still couldn't see his face. But then suddenly her hand was being torn out of his, and there were people shouting, people arguing, all around her. She was crouched on the floor of a closet now, with her white rabbit in her lap, but the grownups were still arguing. About her? About an object. They called it the Fulcrum...

Liz shot awake, gasping and nearly hitting Ressler in the face when she flailed backward and nearly fell off the bed.

“Hey, hey, Liz! Liz, it's okay!”

“The rabbit,” she gasped, sitting up as she tried to take deep breaths.

Ressler was staring at her in confusion and faint concern. “What rabbit? Is this from the dream you were having?”

The fear from the dream was fading, but Liz was sure she was onto something. She threw off the blanket that Don must have spread over her (she had to have been out of it if she hadn't even noticed him lie down next to her) and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “We have to go. We have to go back to my apartment.”

“Why? Liz--”

“Because I think I just remembered something important about the Fulcrum.” She was glad to find upon getting to her feet that she wasn't nearly so drained as she had been when they got here. She was still definitely tired enough to sleep more, but she had to do this first.

“You _remembered_ something about it?” But he was following her to the door.

“Yeah. I think so. And it would explain why someone broke into our apartments...”

In the car on the way to the apartment, Liz looked over at Ressler in the driver's seat. He looked nearly as exhausted as she felt, she saw with a pang. “I'm sorry for waking you up just now,” she said.

“It's fine.” He glanced at her. “Just as long as you're going to tell me what's going on when we get there.”

“You know I will,” she assured him. “It's just that we need to make it there as soon as possible.”

Once they arrived, Liz would have almost run up the stairs if she weren't still so tired. But she did hurry, and only slowed down when she'd opened the door to her apartment.

She stepped inside and looked around the front room carefully, but didn't see anything out of place yet. That made her want to do a quick check of the rest of the place. Ressler accompanied her into the kitchen, and then into the bedroom. That was when she noticed the first thing that wasn't quite where it was supposed to be. Her box of keepsakes was on top of another box, instead of at the back of her closet. She sighed and pulled it out. She had been going to go for this box, anyway. But more than most of her other things, it bothered her to imagine some enemy of hers and Red's searching through it.

“Everything all right?” Ressler asked. He was standing in the doorway.

“This wasn't where I left it,” she told him. Then she frowned as she sat down on the bed heavily. “And I know nothing was, at first, but … it still bothers me. This box especially.”

He sat down next to her, giving her a questioning look. When she opened the lid, understanding dawned on his face and he nodded. “That makes sense.”

Liz made a quick inventory of everything she knew was supposed to be in the box. Nothing was missing, at least. Then she picked up her stuffed rabbit. This was the moment of truth. Feeling along the seams, she found that there was something there. She tore it open and felt inside – and her fingers came across a small, plastic-wrapped object. “My God.”

She could feel Ressler's growing confusion. “What is it?”

Inside the plastic was a hard, black cube-shaped box, no bigger than a walnut. When she examined it closer, she found it had a hinge. It looked like there was some kind of circuitry inside – an old-fashioned chip, she guessed. “The Fulcrum,” she whispered. It looked very much like it would match the other objects Dembe had sent her to retrieve in Red's flat. Her heart, which had been pounding when she woke up but had slowed down since then, sped up again. This had to be what the people who had broken into the apartment had been looking for – and what they had shot Red for, in fact. She bit her lip. And it had been in her possession this whole time, without her even knowing. How they had known to look here, she didn't want to think.

“Liz.” His voice was more insistent now. “I need you to tell me now. What is that thing – and how did you know it was there?”

She tried to organize her thoughts. “I'm pretty sure it's part of the Fulcrum. I had a dream, one that I've had before, but I remembered a few more details this time. Maybe because of everything that's happened in the past day. I remembered holding this rabbit while people were arguing about the Fulcrum.”

He stared. “And, what – did Reddington hide it in your stuffed animal, or something?”

“I don't think he knew where it was,” she said slowly. “But I know he wanted these people to believe that he did.” She shook her head, and a yawn struck her. “I don't know all the details.”

Ressler was quiet for a few seconds. “Well,” he said, “my advice is, until we have the chance to check into this more carefully, we put it somewhere a little safer than in your old stuffed toy. Although I guess that was safe enough, if it kept this thing hidden for more than two decades.”

Liz leaned into him, still holding the little black object as well as her rabbit. “Yeah, some other place is probably a good idea.” She tried to think about the options available to her, but after her initial burst of wakefulness resulting from the dream, her brain was having trouble working at all quickly. “I can't think of a good idea right now, though,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “I get that. Why don't you put it back where it was for now, and we can try to deal with it when we're both feeling a little more alive?” While she did so, he added, “And I guess if we want to be sure it'll be safe for a few more hours, you could take it with you, and sleep with a stuffed animal one more time.”

Liz smiled. “As long as you don't tell anyone.” She went with him back out to the car, clutching the soft, battered stuffed animal to herself. “Wouldn't make a very good impression, if people knew an FBI agent and the head of a dragon organization slept with a toy,” she said, and yawned.

“My lips are sealed,” she heard Ressler say. Once she had sat down in the front of the car, her eyes closed, and that was the last thing she was aware of for a while.

~


	9. Chapter 9

Her discovery of the next morning put a new spin on her decision about how to interact with Red again that same day. By the time she and Ressler were back from their quick trip to the apartment (miraculously, no one had bothered them on the way there, and they were very careful not to draw attention to the large house where Red was now), her still-tired mind was whirling.

She had to stop and steel herself outside of Red's room. The Fulcrum was in her purse, inside a hard plastic case that had once held some other small piece of electronic equipment. And inside the room, she knew, Red would be still in pain, still more vulnerable than she cared to think about. Ressler still wasn't sold on this course of action, she knew. All in all, she wasn't feeling very confident. At least she wasn't seeing everything through quite as thick of a haze of fatigue (though she knew she, Ressler, and anyone else involved in last night's raid weren't even close to completely rested by now).

When she came in, Red looked surprised to see her. “Lizzie. Did you sleep well?” Red asked. His tone wasn't jovial as usual, but more guarded.

“I'll be outside,” said Dembe, and this time he was the one who put his arm on Liz's as he passed.

“I did get some sleep last night. And I had a dream. A nightmare, one I've had over and over, about the fire that night,” said Liz. She sat down in the chair. “This time, though, you were in the dream. And I remembered hearing people arguing about the Fulcrum. And then, when I woke up...” She bent down and took the case out of the purse she'd set on the floor. For a moment, she held it in her hands, biting her lip. When she looked up, she could read the uneasiness in his eyes. “I realized I had it. This whole time.”

She handed the case to him. “Lizzie,” he said, his voice low enough to be nearly inaudible. He opened the case and blinked as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Where was it?”

“Stitched inside my old stuffed rabbit,” she told him.

His eyes widened. “Where no one would think to look.”

Liz nodded. After a moment of silence, she went on, “So, anyway, I don't even know how to begin accessing anything on there. But I'm betting you do.”

He closed the case and set it on the table beside his bed. “You're right. And I don't have to tell you how important this is, especially now.” Before she could answer, he leaned back against his pillow with an audible exhale.

That wasn't a sigh of relief. She sat up and looked for a nurse. “Are you okay?”

“I'll be fine,” he said, with a faint smile that didn't convince her.

“You're in pain,” she said sharply. “Let me find a nurse.”

“Wait. Please,” said Red, more urgently than she was expecting. When she sat back down from where she had started to rise from the chair, and then met his eyes, he sighed. “I'll welcome a visit from the nurse, and the excellent pain medication she'll bring, in a minute. But since that will also cause me to return to unconsciousness, I can hold off for a moment.”

“Don't hold off on my account, Red. I came here to give you the Fulcrum, and I have,” she said. She should stand up and leave.

“And I'm very grateful,” Red said. “You can be sure that Dembe and I will start work with it within the hour. First, however, I have one thing I would like to tell you, about Tom. I promise it won't take long, and then I won't bother you again.”

Liz crossed her arms. He was manipulating her, even now, relying on the fact that she wouldn't want to upset him while he was recovering from a nearly-fatal bullet wound. Maybe he didn't even realize it, but he was. And, damn him, he was right. “Fine.”

Red swallowed. “Thank you. I hired Tom Keen to watch you, to keep you safe and be present. I wasn't able to intervene before he pushed his way into your personal life. For that, I apologize.” He held her gaze. “You know, or have filled in enough of the details to guess accurately, why I didn't tell you this when we first met. I judged that you needed to discover your husband's treachery for yourself, and that to also learn that I was partly responsible would be too much all at once.”

He lifted a hand to forestall her angry retort. “That is the only part of this for which I offer an excuse. I have just one final word, Lizzie: I should have told you, once you knew what you are, and what I am to you. I have no excuse for my weak, foolish hope that you would never find out. Instead of trusting that we might be able to talk about this together, I pretended that I was sparing your feelings instead of mine. And in so doing, I hurt you more. I'm sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I won't easily forgive myself for that.”

Liz blinked back the tears in her eyes. This kind of raw honesty from him was a rare thing, and all the more precious because of it. “Okay,” she said, her voice thick. “I believe you. I even believe you started out with good intentions.” She took her own deep breath. “But I can't keep trusting you if I always have to wonder if you trust me at all.”

Red closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course you can't.”

“So, do you?” she asked bluntly. “I'm not asking if you care about me. I know you do. And I understand that I have to rely on your experience in a lot of areas. But I need to be able to feel that you at least try to keep me in the loop about things that directly affect me, or my organization. And I don't think that's too much to ask.”

Her father's face was pale, now, and she was about ready to find and administer some kind of pain medicine herself. But he had insisted on this. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, anguished tone that hurt her just to hear. “No, it's not too much to ask. I promise to try.”

“Good,” she said, then stood up. “And now I'm getting the nurse for you.” Before she stepped away, though, she paused, and took his hand in hers. She squeezed gently, and then set it back on the bed. “Get well, Red.”

“I will,” he said, squeezing back before she let go.

Ressler met her in the hall after Dembe and the nurse had gone inside. “So, I'm guessing you didn't just hand him the thing?”

Liz shook her head. “He wanted to apologize. About Tom, and not telling me.”

“Okay,” he said, hesitant. “And?”

“And I'm not about to go buy him a 'World's Best Dad' mug or anything, but we talked, and I'm glad we did,” she said.

He searched her face, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Well, good. How's he doing?”

“Worse than he's letting on,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “But Dembe's not going to let him do too much, too soon. And I'm sure Mr. Kaplan will step in, if she's needed.”

Ressler nodded. “And how about you? You doing all right?”

Liz considered. “I guess so. Except until I hear that Red's been able to send the right message with the Fulcrum, I'm still going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that. I guess we'll be sticking around here until or unless there's another development where it would be better if we went out. But if we do go anywhere else, I think Samar should join us, just in case.”

She grimaced. “I guess that makes sense.” Neither the idea of staying cooped up in this building, even though it was nicer than the warehouse by far, nor of requiring two chaperones if she left, pleased her very much. But she couldn't argue with her partner's logic.

The next noteworthy event, not more than an hour later, was the unexpected appearance of a stranger at the perimeter of the house. According to the guards, he had surrendered his gun peaceably, and now allowed himself to be escorted inside. Liz and Mr. Kaplan were waiting in the front room, with Ressler and Samar there as well. Red was asleep again, she knew, and Dembe was with him.

The visitor didn't seem surprised to see any of them. “We need to talk, Agent Keen,” he said. “I'm no threat to you or to Reddington.”

Liz approached, one hand on her holster, though each of the man's arms were held by a guard. She looked into his mind. “I believe you. What do you want?”

“May we speak in private?”

“Not a chance,” Ressler put in.

“Tell me what you want, and we'll go from there,” Liz insisted.

The man sighed. “My name is Leonard Caul. You've been looking for me, and so has the FBI.”

Again, Liz checked, and saw that he was telling the truth. She raised her eyebrows. “And now you found me, instead.”

Caul nodded. “So, may we speak? I know Reddington just narrowly escaped an attempt on his life, from the same people who tried to kill me.” He craned his neck, revealing a bandage on the front and side. “They won't let a setback stop them from trying again. You need to hear what I have to say.”

Liz looked at Mr. Kaplan. _He's not lying. He hasn't lied yet._ The woman gave a slight nod. “All right.” Then she looked at the guards. “Let him go. You can hang onto his gun for now, though. And then I think we can handle this from here.”

Once the guards had left, she gestured to the couch. “Sit, if you want. Whatever you have to say, you can say to all of us.”

“I assume you do, but just to confirm: do you have the Fulcrum with you?” was the first thing he said after they had all sat.

Liz blinked. She didn't know how much chance Red and Dembe had had to do anything with it, now that they had both the case and the piece that she assumed had the actual recording on it. But she was fairly sure they hadn't made any big moves with it yet. “Why?”

“Because you need me to access the file.”

Naturally, Red chose that moment to inquire telepathically, _Lizzie, am I correct in divining that there's something going on that I should know about?_

She pressed her lips together. “I see,” she said out loud, and then replied, _That depends on whether or not you feel up to meeting with Leonard Caul. He says we need him to access the Fulcrum._

She felt her father absorbing that information. _You keep going for now, Lizzie. I'll send someone down with it, and I trust you won't let it out of your sight. He's correct that we need him. Please let me know if anything surprising happens._

Despite the evenness of Red's tone, Liz could tell he wanted to be where the action was. But she didn't need him to explain why he wasn't – it simply wasn't a good idea for him to appear in such a vulnerable state. Although Caul already knew he'd been shot. “Mr. Caul, if I were to bring the Fulcrum to you, here, would you need anything else in order to access it?”

“As long as you have both the key and the bubble module, that's all I need,” he said.

_Okay,_ said Liz to her father. Then, still telepathically, she quickly updated the rest of the people in the room that she had just been in contact with Red, and that he wanted them to access the Fulcrum. “Okay,” she repeated, out loud.

_Lizzie,_ Red said, _remember that if anyone finds out you've seen this, you'll be in even greater danger than you already are. And the same goes for anyone else who's there with you._

_Understood,_ she told him. _Ressler, Samar,_ she said, just to the two of them, _I'm not going to order you to leave, but this file, whatever's on it, is very dangerous. You don't have to be here when it's accessed. Caul isn't a threat to me. I want you to feel free to step out of the room._

Ressler's thoughts were that he didn't want her to have to keep this a secret from him. Samar just wanted to be as informed about the real threat as possible. But the upshot was that neither of them wanted to leave.

Liz wasn't sure if she felt good about their decision, but it was theirs to make. Mr. Kaplan, she assumed, didn't need to be reminded of the facts of the situation. She had evidently chosen to stay, as well.

Another of Red's people, whose name Liz didn't know, entered the room with both pieces. He put them on the table in front of them, nodded to Liz and Mr. Kaplan, and then left again.

“Are you sure you know what you're getting into, Agent Keen?” Caul asked, opening both cases.

“Do it,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading! Sorry that the ending is a bit unresolved, but we do still have more in this AU to share. It's been fun to blend the show with this universe.


End file.
